Colonel
Robert Hogan stood blinking in the white-hot light. Resisting the urge to raise
a hand up to shade his face, he turned his head away from the source. As his
eyes adjusted, he tried for what seemed like the tenth time to distinguish any
objects or people in the room. Frustration mixed with fear when he could not. Where was he?

The
question came at him again, turning his insides to ice. “How do you defend
yourself, Robert Edward Hogan?” He had no answer to give, and felt himself
trembling. “You have killed. And you have failed to stop killing. Lives have
been put at risk because of your actions, and your inaction. How do you respond
to these accusations?”

Hogan
felt adrenalin rush all the way to his fingertips as he broke out in a cold
sweat. His heart was pumping so hard he was surprised no one but him could hear
it. His chest heaved as his breathing sped up, and he felt dizzy, but nothing
in the room was spinning. He peered back into the brightness, fighting to keep his
emotions in check. He couldn’t remember ever being this frightened of anything
before. And making it worse was his complete lack of control: he didn’t know
where he was, how he had gotten there, or who was questioning him.

The
light got hotter, and closer, and if possible, brighter. So bright that he
could no longer see any darkness around it, and he suddenly found himself being
dangled over a precipice, with the light burning into him from behind. His eyes
unable to focus, he could only see a black, seemingly bottomless abyss yawning
below. Terrified of struggling in case the invisible grip on him came loose, he
spread his arms and legs as though skydiving, an instinctive move to try to
control a fall.

“Have
you no answer, Robert Hogan?” came the booming voice.

“I—I—”
was all Hogan could manage. He looked down against his will and saw faces,
fading in, fading out. People who had passed through his life at LuftStalag 13.
People who he had tried to help get away from the Germans, while remaining a
prisoner of war himself. People who had sacrificed everything to help the
Allies triumph during this terrible, ungodly world war. People whom Hogan would
never see again because, for one reason or another, they had not survived.
Hogan watched a bead of sweat from his brow plunge into the darkness, as the
faces flashed before him.

“It
was my job,” he gasped. “I was following orders!”

“You
will answer to a higher power,” the voice said evenly. And then Hogan was
falling.

“No!”
he screamed, terrified. “No! I’m Papa Bear! I’m Papa Bear!” And he continued
screaming as he tumbled through to the blackness below.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan woke up with a start, a shriek still strangled in
his throat. He sat up, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, looking around
him wildly to be sure it was only a dream.

That
dream. That same damned dream he’d been having for weeks. It never changed. The
light, the faces, the fall. The question: how do you defend yourself? He put a
hand up to wipe his face and cursed when he realised he was still shaking. He
squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them fiercely, trying to settle himself down.
Again. Not again.

Forcing
himself to breathe calmly, he stood up and walked unsteadily to the small,
dirty window in his private quarters inside Barracks Two. Dawn was just
starting to creep into the sky, breaking up the darkness with small
brushstrokes of light. The guards would be bellowing for roll call soon. Just
as well, hethought; he wouldn’t be
getting any more sleep tonight anyway.

An
uncharacteristic frown crossed Hogan’s face as he tried to shake his foul mood
before meeting his men. As the senior Prisoner of War officer at this German
camp, he had to put on a cool exterior. Especially to his team: being in charge
of the most intense sabotage operation of the war, right in the midst of the
enemy, required the control and skill of a master craftsman—and sometimes an
award-winning actor. Fear was not allowed; it would only undermine the
confidence of his subordinates, who needed constant and unwavering support to
do the dangerous work they were assigned by Allied headquarters in London.
Hogan himself had had his fair share of scrapes with the enemy, including a
rather brutal encounter with the Gestapo a few months back. He considered:
perhaps he was still suffering the mental effects of his capture. He wanted to
think he had fully recovered, but an occasional unbearable headache or
breath-taking stab of pain in his ankle made it clear that he was wrong. Maybe
his mind was telling him the same thing.

He
sighed and moved quietly into the main room of the barracks. He felt his way
through the dim light to the stove, where a pot was holding coffee left over
from last night. Pouring the tepid liquid into a cup, he realised he’d been
depending more and more recently on the caffeine to get him through the days.
He had slept little with the advent of this nightmare a couple of weeks ago,
combined with a relentless schedule of Underground activity that scraped his
nerves raw. Too often lately, he had found his mind wandering, unfocused, far
from his reality.

“Want
a fork?” came an English accent out of the darkness.

Hogan
jumped and nearly dropped his cup. He turned quickly and made out the figure of
RAF Corporal Peter Newkirk. “What was that?” he asked quietly.

“I
asked if you wanted a fork,” Newkirk repeated. “That coffee’s too solid to use
a spoon.”

Hogan
lifted the corner of his lips in a very brief half smile. “Didn’t think anyone
would be up this early.”

“You
know me, sir, I’m an early riser. Don’t like missing the morning sunshine
reflecting off the barbed wire.” Newkirk came forward and took a cup, motioning
for Hogan to pour. “I’m just not the same without my daily tar intake,” he
quipped.

“Well,
sir, I don’t mean to be nosy, but this is the third time this week you’ll be
ready for assembly before we’re called. Schultzie isn’t going to know what to
do with himself.”

“Hey,
doesn’t anyone believe in sleeping at night around here?” Another voice pierced
the dimness.

“Just
greeting the best part of the day, Le Beau,” Hogan replied.

Corporal
Louis Le Beau stumbled bleary-eyed to the stove. “How can you drink that
concoction now?” he asked, wrinkling his nose. “It is an insult to the palate.”

“You
should know, Louis; you made it,” Newkirk retorted.

“We
French have impeccable taste,” Le Beau protested. “You English cannot
appreciate fine cuisine with your bland idea of gourmet food. What you do to
food should be against the Geneva Convention. Café is meant to be drunk fresh
and hot, not old and lumpy.”

“More
like stew now,” Newkirk pronounced, swallowing hard and replacing his half-full
cup. “Tastes the same as when it was fresh, though.”

Le
Beau was about to respond when another voice piped up. “Hey, what’s going on?
Did I sleep through something?”

Sergeant
Andrew Carter rolled out of his bunk and came to the others. “Join the party,
Andrew,” said Newkirk. “We’re just discussing how many times to chew Louis’
coffee before swallowing.”

The
others immediately ceased their banter and looked at each other questioningly.
It was going to be a long day.

Chapter Two

The Challenge

“Message
from London, Colonel.” Sergeant James Kinchloe appeared from underneath a bunk
in Barracks Two, where a tunnel laboriously dug by the Underground was
concealed. Kinchloe spent a great deal of his time under Stalag 13, keeping
track of radio transmissions that would give Hogan and his men their next jobs.
Tonight he climbed out, carrying a clipboard with the decoded information for his
commander.

Hogan
took the board from the black radioman. He was in no mood for any static from
London. Kinch had handed Hogan five assignments in the last week, too much for
ordinary men, Hogan believed. It wasn’t like they were being asked to perform commonplace
military tasks; every move they made was a risk to their lives. “You’d think
they’d give us a little holiday for all the fireworks we’ve been setting off
for them lately,” Hogan sighed. “You fellas have earned a break.”

“We
all have,” yawned Le Beau. “If they wouldn’t mind waiting until tomorrow,
Colonel, we might sleep in for once.”

Hogan
scanned the words on the paper in front of him and frowned. “Interesting.”

“What
do they want, Colonel?” asked Le Beau.

“Seems
like we’ve got some high-level Krauts coming to Hammelburg for talks on a new
Luftwaffe offensive that could shorten the war—and not in our favour. London wants us to infiltrate the meeting, get
the plans, and make sure that the
masterminds of the scheme don’t get back to Berlin.”

“Is
that all? Do they want us to do anything else—like make ships in bottles?”
remarked Newkirk sarcastically.

“Why
are they coming to Hammelburg for a meeting like this?” asked Carter.

“My
guess is security.Berlin could be too
big and too busy, a bodyguard’s nightmare. A little out-of-the-way place like
Hammelburg could be the perfect location to hatch a pretty ruthless scheme. And
it’d let them filter out all the rotten ideas before presenting them to
Hitler,” Hogan surmised. “He’s not known for his patience.”

“This
is big stuff, Colonel,” observed Kinch. “And in the daytime, more than likely.”

“When’s
the meeting?” asked Newkirk.

“Day
after tomorrow. We’re going to need some help on this one.” Hogan turned to Le
Beau. “Louis, what haven’t we celebrated lately?”

“Bastille
Day. But even the Germans know that is not in October.”

“There
are other holidays besides the French ones, y’know,” said Newkirk sardonically.

“Very
few worth mentioning,” sniffed the diminutive national.

“You
fellas are thinking too broadly. Think closer to home. What would get Klink
into town?” Hogan asked, his brown eyes twinkling mischievously.

The
men took a moment to consider their balding, prison camp kommandant. His ego
well-known, his kowtowing personality even more obvious. And his more than
healthy attitude towards the fairer sex a weakness they had exploited—more than
once. “Girls,” they answered, almost as one.

“So
we’ve got to get him one for his birthday in three days,” Hogan said.

“I
wish someone’d get me a present like that,” muttered Newkirk.

“But
Colonel, it’s not Klink’s birthday until February,” Carter said.

“Carter,
don’t be such a stickler for detail,” Hogan censured good-naturedly. “It just
wouldn’t be wise to leave these things till the last minute. We’ll plan a nice
birthday surprise for the kommandant. Fix up his car nice and shiny—oh, that’s
something,” he announced with a roguish grin. “We’ll need to go into Hammelburg
to get some things to shine up and tune up Klink’s car nice and proper.”

“Kinch,
we’re going to need full details on this conference. Radio London. Get times
and places. And then get the details on who we have in Hammelburg that can get
into that meeting, preferably someone the Krauts are already comfortable with.”

“Yes,
Colonel,” said Kinch. And, knowing that once a plan was in his head Hogan
wanted things moving right away, he took off to the tunnel.

“Newkirk,
I’m going to need some papers. High level stuff, no frills. If I have to meet
up with some of these pretty boys I’m going to need to play on their level.”

“Comin’
right up, sir,” Newkirk nodded.

Hogan’s
mind drifted to his last experience with the Germans as he rubbed a sore spot
on his temple. “And make a second set for yourself, just in case. Le Beau?”

“Oui,
Colonel.”

“Start
work on your very best apple strudel. We’re going to need to convince Schultz
that our plan is a good one. And the way to Schultz’s brain is through his
stomach.”

“Oui,
Colonel.”

“Carter,
we’re going to need some small, but powerful charges. The best way to make sure
these guys don’t get home without hurting innocent civilians is going to be to
get their cars. They’re bound to have someone looking after them. You’ll have
to find a way around the guard.”

“No
problem, boy—uh, Colonel,” said Carter. “Y’know, I’ve been working on some
knock-out drops that might just work if we have to use them. Or—or I’m
developing a temporary amnesia drug that might work better.”

“How
does that one work?” asked Newkirk.

“Um,”
faltered Carter. “I can’t remember.”

“Sounds
like he has been testing it on himself,” Le Beau said.

“I’ll
talk with Klink about his coming celebration,” Hogan told them. “Let’s get to
work.”

“Can’t
we turn in and work on all this tomorrow?” Carter moaned.

“Maybe
the next war, Carter. Maybe the next war.”

The
well-oiled machine that was Hogan’s underground operation got to work in
earnest. Kinch kept his ear glued to the radio, with Hogan hovering nervously
nearby. He trusted his radioman but couldn’t help constantly looking over his
shoulder to get the de-coded information as it was written down. The more he
read, the more edgy he got. He paced as he relayed questions to his superiors
via Kinch, then furrowed his brow as the answers came rolling in. He was in two
minds: this was a chance to strike a real blow to the Axis powers; but it was
also a serious risk to his men. He hoped he would be able to take sufficient
precautions to ensure their safety.

Meanwhile,
Newkirk was further down the tunnel, carefully putting pen to paper, designing
papers that would legitimize Hogan in the face of the Germans. History.
Identity. Orders. Then he turned to his own paperwork. Pausing, he remembered
his stint as a German officer trying to get Hogan out of Gestapo Headquarters. You haven’t forgotten either, have you,
Colonel? he said to himself, fingering Hogan’s documents. Well I’m making these papers good enough to
get us out of Hitler’s office if necessary, gov’nor. Don’t worry this time
around.

Nearby,
Carter was in his element. Bunsen burners and test tubes at the ready, the
American Sergeant was concocting potions only he could explain. Much as he
could irritate the others with his sometimes inane comments and poor jokes,
they respected his ability with explosives and chemicals. Carter didn’t dare
underestimate the importance of getting his work right; he knew that a slip-up
in his formulas or his charges could mean death to one of his colleagues. In
the end he was a perfectionist, for the safety of his friends, as well as for
his own satisfaction.

Upstairs
at the stove, Le Beau was putting the finishing touches on a fine snack for
Sergeant Hans Schultz. The portly guard was easily swayed by the culinary
pleasures of his charges. But Le Beau had learned to take no Germans for
granted, not even the normally placid Schultz. With this in mind, he added a
little more cinnamon to the bowl. “Maybe I should double the recipe,” he
muttered aloud. “This will only fill one of his three stomachs.”

Hogan
came up through the bunk bed entrance, followed by Kinch. His face was grim.
“What do they have to say, Colonel?” asked Le Beau, turning from his work.
Hogan looked strained, he thought. No sleep, more pressure. London should have
given him a chance to recover properly after his Gestapo capture.

“That
smells good, Le Beau,” said Hogan, ignoring the question. “I’m going to turn
in. Killer headache. Keep up the good work.” And he passed with not so much as
a look in the Corporal’s direction, shutting his door quietly behind him.

Le
Beau looked at Kinch, questioning. “It’s risky. It’s making him anxious,” Kinch
said. “The Colonel needs time to think about how to execute this one. But there
isn’t any time.”

“And
he is unwell, Kinch,” said Le Beau. “He is not sleeping. He did not eat
anything at dinner, not even when I offered him his favourites, made by my own
hand. And he is still getting headaches. It is not fair for London to expect
him to walk into a roomful of Krauts. Not the way he is now.”

“Try
telling him that,” interjected Newkirk, coming up from the tunnel. “These are
the best papers I think I’ve ever done.” He dropped them on the table for the
others to examine. “I only hope we don’t have to use ’em.”

“We’ll
find out tomorrow,” Kinch said. “That’s when London is going to finish filling
the Colonel in on our Hammelburg contacts.” He looked at Hogan’s closed door.
“I can tell you this much: he doesn’t like it, not one bit.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

On
the other side of the door Hogan was lying on his bunk staring up at the
ceiling. The headache had only been an excuse to get some solitude, but now it
was becoming real. Face it, Robert,
you’re just too tired to keep this up. But neither did he want to fall
asleep and face these unseen demons haunting him. He massaged his temples and
his forehead with his hands. So much to
do. The men are counting on me to get it right. And I don’t know if I can do
it. London is asking us to kill. To kill…. And though he did his best to
fight it, he fell into a troubled slumber, and once more woke up screaming.

Chapter Three

The Way To A
Man’s Heart

Kinch
came up out of the tunnel and grabbed a coffee mug. He’d gotten up early to go
down and communicate with London, and found Hogan already down there, listening
to static. Noting Hogan’s drawn face, Kinch had wondered how long his
commanding officer had slept last night. Hogan had simply nodded his head in
greeting, then returned to his inner thoughts. Kinch did his best to ignore the
Colonel, knowing that when he was this way it was better not to try to draw him
out. But the constant presence unnerved him, and he had to come back up to the
surface, with no information forthcoming from Headquarters yet.

Pouring
a cup of joe, he considered what he knew. Some of the messages that had come
from London last night still made no sense to Kinch, but he could tell by
Hogan’s reactions that they had been perfectly clear to the Colonel. A mission
like this one depended on many people working together, something that Hogan
didn’t usually care for. There were too many opportunities for something to go
wrong. A small, close-knit group was the preferred method of operation. But
there was no way this mission was going to be able to proceed this way.
Already, there was Hogan, his four closest operatives, Klink, and Schultz. Add
whatever Underground agents were necessary and there were a dozen people for
Hogan to feel responsible for. Kinch shook his head. No wonder Hogan was
looking drained.

“Achtung!”
came a loud, booming voice from outside. “Achtung! Rise and shine, rise and
shine!”

Kinch
looked up, startled. Roll call. Hogan was still downstairs. He raced to the
bunks and called down. “Colonel—roll call! Roll call!”

Hogan
scrambled up the ladder and closed the entrance just as Sergeant Schultz opened
the door. Le Beau, Newkirk, and Carter, were rousing themselves. Le Beau, who
had been moved from his bunk to let the traffic head downstairs, was being
particularly slow this morning.

“It
is time for you to come and be counted,” Schultz said, yawning.

“We’ve
already done that, Schultz,” said Hogan cheerfully. “None of us is missing.”

Kinch
marvelled at the way Hogan put on this jovial exterior as soon as a job was
underway. How could any of his men ever tell when he needed to unload his own
burdens? “Jolly joker,” said Schultz. “You know I have to count you in front of Kommandant Klink.” He paused. “So raus, raus!” he shouted.

The
men moaned their protests at this assault on their ears. Filing out past
Schultz, Le Beau mumbled, “You just see if I give you any of my strudel.”

“I
made some last night, just for you. But I don’t think I will be doing that now.
You are an insult to my ears.”

“Oh
please, Le Beau, not your strudel. You must let me smell it.”

“That’s
about as close as you will come to it.”

“That’s
right, Schultz. You can’t afford to make Le Beau angry when he’s been cooking.”
Hogan came up to Schultz and put a hand on his shoulder, flashing a winning
smile. “Tell you what. I’ll bet I can get Le Beau to hand over some of that
strudel. But you have to do us a little favour first.”

“What
kind of a favour?” asked Schultz in a low voice.

“Well
the men want to do something special for Colonel Klink’s birthday this week.
What’s the chance of us heading into Hammelburg tomorrow to fix up his car and
get him a special date with a beautiful fraulein?” Hogan asked, conspiringly.

“Oh,
no, I couldn’t do that,” Schultz said.

“Not
even for apple strudel?” asked Le Beau. “I made extra, thinking you might want
some on the trip in to town. But if you don’t want it I am sure some of the
other guards would be glad to have it.”

“Maybe
I could do it,” Schultz reconsidered.

“Sure
you could, Schultz,” encouraged Hogan. “I’ll have a talk with Klink after roll
call.”

“But
the kommandant’s birthday is not until February,” Schultz said, frowning.

“Don’t
worry, Schultz,” said Hogan. “Klink will forget all about that when he has a lovely, rich lady in his arms.” He
patted Schultz on the chest and strolled out to the compound to join formation.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan’s
eyes feasted briefly on Klink’s secretary Hilda as he entered the camp
kommandant’s office after roll call. He smiled one of his most charming smiles
at her, and, as usual, she responded with a look that melted his insides. Hogan
sighed as he passed her without comment. Too many things to organise today. A
rendezvous with her would have to wait until after the Luftwaffe offensive was
deterred.

He
rapped quickly and then entered Klink’s inner office without waiting. Klink was
busy at his desk and did not look up. “Not now, Hogan. I have too many things
to do this morning. Dis-missed.” He waved as though to shoo Hogan away like a
troublesome fly.

“Working
hard as always, Kommandant?” said Hogan sympathetically. He took off his cap
and clutched it in his hands. “That’s just like you, sir—dedicated,
industrious, devoted to duty.” He sniffed, as though touched by the scene.
“That’s why the men are so proud of you, sir. I tried to tell them they
couldn’t interrupt a man as busy as you with something as trivial as a date but
they insisted I try to surprise you anyway. I told them it couldn’t be done.”
Hogan sighed as he leaned over Klink’s desk, planting the idea in his ear.

“You
are right, Hogan, I don’t have time
for foolishness right now—” Klink cut himself off. “What do you mean a date?”
he enquired quickly, paperwork forgotten.

“Well,
sir, the men wanted to do something special for your birthday and they thought
you might like a night on the town with a beautiful lady in Hammelburg, with
your car all done up nice and shiny and clean.” Hogan shrugged. “But it’s just
not something you can make time for in your busy schedule, sir. I understand.”
He straightened up, sighed. “I’ll break the news to the men, sir. It’ll break
their hearts.” He turned toward the door.

“Hogan,
wait a minute,” burst Klink. He stood up to stop Hogan’s departure. Hogan
paused, turned back to Klink with an expectant look on his face. “You know,
Hogan, duty is the most important thing in a Luftwaffe officer’s life.”

“Yes,
Colonel, of course I understand, you don’t have to justify yourself to the men,
sir.” He made as though to leave again.

“But
part of that duty, Hogan, is to make sure that the prisoners are treated well,”
he continued over the senior POW. “You know I run the toughest prison camp in
all of Germany, but that does not mean I am heartless. The men need to be able
to do humane, kind things, Hogan. I would be shirking my duty if I did not let
them do this for me.” Hogan tried to suppress a grin. “Now what is this plan
the men have?”

“Well,
sir,” Hogan said, warming up, “the men thought it would be lovely if they could
get your car tuned up, cleaned inside and out, and get you all gussied up for a
nice evening out with a charming fraulein. Someone young and inspiring, worthy
of you, sir, especially on a night as special as your birthday.”

“Don’t
let that spoil it, sir. The men would be so disappointed. They think the world
of you—what does it matter if it’s really your birthday or not?”

Klink
nodded emphatically. “You’re right, Hogan. I shouldn’t let that interfere with
my duty as camp kommandant. If the men want me to have a candlelit dinner with
a rich, enchanting woman, why should I deny them that simple pleasure?”

“You’re
all heart, sir,” Hogan said. “Now we’re going to have to get your car into town
for proper servicing, Kommandant. I suggest tomorrow morning after roll call.
Schultz can guard us. I’ll take Carter, Le Beau, Kinchloe and Newkirk, and
we’ll get it all organised. How’s that?”

“If
Schultz wants to go, then you may go, Hogan.” He suddenly turned on Hogan and
wagged a finger at him. “But no funny business,” he warned.

Hogan
held up his hands in surrender. “Scout’s honour,” he said. And replacing his
cap, he shot Klink a quick salute and left the office.

The
game was afoot.

Chapter Four

Seeking
Strength

If
so much didn’t depend on the outcome of these assignments, Hogan thought he
would actually enjoy the strategic planning that came with them. But as he
headed back to Barracks Two, he felt his stomach tightening into the familiar
cold knot that had been there countless times before. He sometimes felt like he
was putting together a jigsaw puzzle: all the pieces had to be in place to
succeed. His men, trained and at the ready; the pawns, like Klink and Schultz
were to be in this mission, lined up and unwittingly cooperating; the Underground,
prepared to back up Hogan’s operatives; and Hogan himself, sorting all the
shapes and colours to make a complete picture. Even the Germans had their role
to play, their actions to be counted on. The problem with this puzzle though,
Hogan always fretted, was that he had no control over the final design. At any
time one of these key pieces could go missing. And one piece out of place could
mean death to himself, or his men.

Hogan
mentally ticked off the first item on his list. Getting Klink to agree to the
scam was even easier than he had expected. Maybe one day he would actually have
to get the kommandant one of those irresistible women. Schultz was an
anticipated pushover. Absentmindedly, Hogan rubbed his stomach, which he knew
would later be sore with stress. Back to
the tunnel, he thought. London must
have something by now.

This
time on his descent to the bowels of Stalag 13 Hogan found he wasn’t alone. Le
Beau, Newkirk and Carter were all gathered around Kinch, waiting for news. Le
Beau handed Hogan a mug and filled it with coffee. “Anything, Kinch?” Hogan
asked.

“Due
in two minutes, Colonel. They want to speak with you directly.”

“What
happened with Klink?” asked Newkirk.

“Are
you kidding? A little more effort and he would have handed me the keys, a map,
and a recording of ‘Melancholy Baby’,” Hogan quipped. “What about Schultz?”

“He
is getting fatter,” grumbled Le Beau.

“Good,
that means we’re getting what we want. You’ll have to make him something extra
special to distract him when we’re in Hammelburg tomorrow morning.”

“I
already have it planned, Colonel. A beautiful puff pastry filled with chicken,
vegetables, and a sweet curry sauce.”

“Sounds
wonderful!” piped up Carter.

“Never
mind; with the amount Schultz eats we will be lucky to get two kilometres up
the road before we run out,” Le Beau warned.

“You’re
breaking my heart,” Hogan said.

“Mama
Bear, this is Papa Bear, we read you and are ready for transmission,” Kinch
broke in suddenly, his ear still at his headsets.

“Okay,
fellas, upstairs,” said Hogan. “I’ll let you know what’s going on when I know.”
Hogan then spoke over their protests. “That’s an order, come on, get going.”
His tone of voice silenced their objections and they headed back up the ladder.
Kinch was surprised when Hogan included him in the exodus as well, but he
followed without comment.

Ten
minutes later the group were sitting tensely in the barracks, jumping at every
creak in the floorboards. The suspense was so thick, Carter marvelled that he
could see through it. By the time Hogan emerged from below, Le Beau had stirred
the coffee so much it had a small whirlpool in it, Kinch had practically paced
a hold in the floor, and Newkirk had drummed an indent into the table.

“Okay,
here’s what we’re gonna do,” Hogan started, as his men gathered around him.
“We’ll start out after roll call in the morning. Le Beau, we’re going to have
to get a couple of uniforms in the trunk of Klink’s car for you and Carter.”

“Ours
are going to be waiting for us at the Landgasthaus. Our contact there is Angus
Voelker. He’s going to give us the low-down on attendees of our little Kraut
cocktail party and then RSVP for us. We’ll take what we need and beat it.” He
nodded at Carter. “Carter, we’re going to need some pretty small, pretty potent
explosives. According to London, a dozen high-ranking Germans are going to be at
this meeting, and I can guarantee you they won’t be carpooling.”

“No
problem, Colonel.”

“And
one more thing: this little picnic in the park is going to be guarded by the
SS. Heinrich Himmler is reported to be personally interested in it.” Hogan’s
men drew in their breath at the mention of the leader of the Nazi police.
“Unfortunately I don’t think we’re going to have a chance to have a go at him.
He’d just be another person for them to protect, so he’ll probably stay away.”
The men were silent. Hogan knew what they were thinking: that this was much
bigger than they could have envisaged. “Don’t be overwhelmed; we’ll take it one
step at a time, the same way we handle all our other assignments. We’ll just
have to make extra careful to watch our backs.”

Hogan
actually wanted to offer his men the chance to back out—they were all
volunteers in his mind—but he was afraid if he did, they would pick up on his
own reservations and thus lose the confidence that was vital for them to
possess in order to carry out their tasks with maximum efficiency and minimum
danger. So instead, he gave them all a careful stare, trying to gauge their
feelings. Normally quite astute at picking up on their emotional states, Hogan
found that he could not read them now through the fog of his own uncertainty.

Unused
to this ambiguity, Hogan cursed himself for what he considered a weakness in
his own mind. That damned dream kept coming back in unexpected ways: a flash
here and there, a chill down his spine, a terror that would not go away and yet
could not be expressed. And now, a draining of his usual self-assurance,
something he found he needed more than ever.

It
was Carter who broke the awkward silence. “It’ll be nice to make such a big
difference to the war effort,” he said.

Hogan
looked at him with pride and a fatherly satisfaction.

“Yeah,
we’ve never had anything this big,
Colonel. What we do could save thousands of lives,” Le Beau said.

“London
must think a lot of you fellas,” said Hogan. “They are entrusting a lot to
you.”

Hogan
sat at his desk and opened his Bible. With a deft movement he found a passage
that he had read over and over again: in the middle of the night, when he was
suddenly gripped with an excruciating anxiety that was to be his alone; when he
was waiting for word from one of his men out on a mission; when the enormity of
what he was doing—and his responsibility for others’ lives—hit him full force.
And when he woke up, sweating and shaking, as he had so often in the last few
weeks, looking for an explanation for the incomprehensible. His eyes drank in
the words, though he knew them now by heart: to rescue us from the hand of our enemies, and to enable us to serve
him without fear.

Without fear. Hogan wondered if he would
ever again know what that felt like. He closed the book, and headed down to the
tunnel to complete his preparations for tomorrow.

Chapter Five

Ready To Roll

The
bleak sun came up early at Stalag 13, and when Hogan came out of his room after
a now not uncommon restless night he found his men already up. Newkirk was
sitting at the table, hunched over some papers, doing what appeared to be very
detailed work.

“What’s
the go, Peter?” asked Hogan.

“I’m
just making sure everything is perfect with these, Colonel,” he said, holding
up one of the documents he had put together for when he and Hogan went to the
Landgasthaus.

Hogan
nodded. So Newkirk was anxious too; it was unlike him to go back to work he had
completed. “Don’t worry, Newkirk. The papers are perfect. You’re the best
forger I know,” Hogan said. “Actually I think you’re the only forger I know. But don’t let that detract from the
compliment.”

The
banter amongst the men continued, but Hogan backed out of it and observed. He
had given up long ago trying to guess how he had come to be in charge of this
diverse group of men.What on the
surface was a ragtag, undisciplined assortment, underneath was an organised,
determined and dedicated team that used humour and self-deprecation to break up
the tension that could tear apart an inter-dependent operation if left
unchecked. Hogan counted himself as blessed for being able to work with these
men, who, like him, knew what had to be done, and did it.

But
though they trusted and counted on him, thanks to his rank Hogan still felt
somewhat isolated from his men. He had never been one to pull rank, except when
it would endanger his operation or the lives of the men under his command. But
his duty also meant that he could not confide fully in his charges. The job of
a senior officer was to keep his men’s minds fixed on the job at hand, and safe
from any unnecessary dangers. And wondering if their commander was shaking in
his boots was not something that helped keep them focused. So with few
exceptions, Hogan kept his thoughts and fears to himself, only in his weakest
moments revealing any unease. The gnawing at his insides was telling him this
was one of those moments. But he was determined to fight it this time. There
was too much at stake for a single thought to sidetrack them, and he didn’t
think he could endure the guilt that would follow if anyone got hurt, or worse,
killed, because of his own Achilles' heel.

His
reflection didn’t last long, though, as the familiar rousing to roll call
brought them to their feet. As usual, Hogan strolled out after most of the
others had left the barracks, zipping up his jacket and casually putting on his
cap. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Hogan noted with wry amusement the
almost effervescent strut of Colonel Klink as he approached from his office
across the compound, stopping with a flourish in front of the gathered
prisoners.

“Good
morning gentlemen; Schultz,” Klink greeted, rocking back and forth on his toes.
Schultz just pursed his lips, used to the insults. “Report, Sergeant!” Klink
almost sang.

“Herr
Kommandant, all prisoners present and accounted for.”

“Very
good, Schultz,” said Klink. He turned to the prisoners. “It has come to my
attention, gentlemen, that there has not been ample opportunity for you to
exhibit your humane tendencies here at Stalag 13. And because I am, after all,
a compassionate kommandant, I have given Colonel Hogan permission to go to
Hammelburg today with four of his men to put those inclinations into practice.
They will be under armed guard, of course, and if they try to escape they will
be shot.” Hogan shook his head; Klink always did know how to make a heartening speech. “The rest of you will
remain in camp, on light work detail for the day.” Hogan shrugged. Not bad. “You may complete any heavy
work first thing in the morning.” Way to
go, Kommandant, Hogan chided.

After
this little oration, Klink seemed in a hurry to dismiss the men. He waved his
hand as though to scatter them, then approached Hogan. “Nice touch, Kommandant.
Light duties today,” Hogan said, hiding his urge to explain to Klink how to really motivate people.

“Thank
you, Hogan,” Klink said. “Are you all ready to go?”

“Oh
yes, sir. Le Beau and Carter have a few special polishes they’d like to bring
along that will make the interior just perfect. You know how easy it is for it
to become faded and worn without proper care.” He glanced at his watch. “We’d
better be on our way, Kommandant. Places to go… frauleins to see….”

“Of
course, Hogan, of course. The car will be out of the motor pool in a few
minutes. Schultz!” he called.

“Jawohl,
Herr Kommandant!” Schultz came hastily and stood at attention.

“See
that the car is ready immediately. Bring it to the front of my office.”

“Jawohl,
Herr Kommandant.” He saluted, then relaxed, and leaned over to Hogan. “Colonel
Hogan—“

“Yes,
Schultz?”

“Corporal
Le Beau—he is still planning to bring the food he has been cooking?”

“Of
course, Schultz. Nice day like this we might even stop and have a picnic. He’s
packing a basket.”

Schultz
smiled. “I will get the car,” he said, then dreamed his way
away.

Hogan
had a sudden inspiration, and called after him. “Oh, Schultz!”

“Yes,
Colonel Hogan?”

“Le
Beau’s really fussy about his cooking. You’ll have to let him pack the trunk
alone, or he might think it’s not fit to serve.” And he might not be able to smuggle in the explosives and uniforms
otherwise. “You know the French,” he added with an indulgent smile.

“Of course, Colonel Hogan. I will see that
he has complete privacy.” He turned
on his heel and shuffled quickly toward the motor pool.

“I knew you would,” Hogan muttered.

“I
have told Schultz that you are to be back by sunset, Hogan,” Klink said
sternly. Then his demeanour suddenly changed. “Will that be enough time to make
arrangements with a beautiful fraulein?”

“Any fraulein with taste should agree to a lovely
evening out with an esteemed member of the Luftwaffe in mere minutes.” Klink
looked as though he were reconsidering the time away. “But the car, of course,
Colonel, will take longer. We’ll do the best we can with it in the time we
have. Your German mechanics might be good, but they don’t pay any attention to
the little details. And that’s what women like: the details. It’s the little
things that win their heart.”

“Of course you’re right, Hogan. Take all the time
you need.”

Hogan smiled. This might not be so bad after all.

Chapter Six

Brunch, Interrupted

Hogan wasn’t sure whether it was the tightness in
his chest or the tight packing of people in the car that was making him feel
queasy. As he, his four men, and Schultz crowded into Klink’s car, he realised
it was going to be a close fit and, never being fond of cramped quarters, he
had tried to claim the front seat for himself. But lack of space meant Le Beau
had to squeeze in between him and Schultz, who was at the wheel. And right now
Le Beau was nauseatingly speaking of food, something Hogan could not stomach
easily as his insides churned in anticipation of the mission ahead.

He had to admit Le Beau was doing a great job of
piquing the guard’s interest. Since they had left the camp fifteen minutes ago,
Le Beau had tantalized Schultz’s tastebuds with verbal images of the tasty
morsels he had lovingly packed into the trunk of the car. That, thought Hogan,
satisfied, and a dessert of charges and timers. And Schultz had happily taken
the bait, at least once nearly running off the road while his mind was already
feasting on the promised delicacies.

“Don’t you worry, Schultz, you will be enjoying a lovely
pastry soon enough,” Le Beau said. “Maybe with some wine, a loaf of bread…”

“Yeah, but first he has to get us to Hammelburg in
one piece,” commented Newkirk from the back. “Take it easy, up there, will y’,
Schultzie?”

“We are nearly there,” Schultz announced, more to
satisfy his own cravings than to keep his charges informed. “And it is nearly
lunch time!”

Hogan remained quiet, his eyes concentrating on the
road ahead. His mind was already in the Landgasthaus, anxiously waiting for
Voelker to provide them with the information the Allies needed to deter this
Luftwaffe attack. And he was mentally going through their plan of action: he and
Newkirk to break away and head to the rendezvous; Carter and Le Beau to arrange
to get the cars booby-trapped; Kinch to keep Schultz occupied. Hogan regretted
having to give Kinch a low-level job, no matter how vital it was. But in broad
daylight in World War Two Germany, a black man could hardly pass himself off as
anyone official. And he certainly did know the workings of Schultz’s mind. It
gave Hogan a small feeling of security to know that someone as sturdy as Kinch
was going to be holding everything together for them.

In the back of his brain, the question of rigging
the cars troubled Hogan. He knew that this mission could not be considered a
success unless all of London’s orders had been followed. He knew that the only
way to ensure any offensive didn’t get off the ground was for no one to escape
with the campaign on paper—or in his mind. And he knew that there was no one
else who could do this but him and his men.

But he could still hear the question: How do you
defend yourself? If things went to plan a dozen lives would be sacrificed. To save thousands, he tried to argue
with himself. But maybe the offensive
will be abandoned and it will all come to nought… what will your defence be
then? Hogan shifted in his cramped seat, almost as though trying to
physically push the idea away. You’re
arguing with yourself over nothing, he reprimanded himself. Stop thinking and do your job.

“All the time,” Carter responded. “But she never
answered it. So I still need to know.”

Hogan shook his head. Comic relief.

None too soon for Hogan’s taste, the car rolled into
a fenced-in area in Hammelburg. Schultz pulled up beside a neglected building
with several cars nearby in a concrete lot. “This is where Colonel Klink says
his mechanic does his best work?” Schultz questioned doubtfully.

Hogan gratefully got out of the car and took in a
deep breath. He and the others surveyed their surroundings. “This is where we
were told to come, Schultz,” he said. By
our contact, he added silently.

“I don’t see
anyone,” said Carter.

“Doesn’t matter,” chirped Hogan. “We’ll just get
working ourselves.” He continued to look around, and noted a German soldier
standing near the gate. “Friend of yours, Schultz?”

“No, Colonel Hogan,” responded Schultz, glancing
toward the man, who was now turning in their direction.

“Never mind,” said Hogan. He nodded to Le Beau.
“Louis, how about some brunch for our friend Schultz?”

“Ah, oui, mon Colonel,” said the Corporal. He headed
to the back of the car. “I only wish we had some wine and a nice stick of bread
to put with this.” Schultz, mouth nearly watering, came to Le Beau’s side. Le
Beau held up a hand to stop him. “Schultz, what did I say about you manhandling
my creations?”

“I am sorry, Le Beau. I will keep my distance.” And
he stood at attention respectfully near the driver’s door. Le Beau opened the
back of the car, carefully removed the explosives from the basket, and emerged
with the remaining spread.

“It will be a bit of a buffet today, gentlemen,” Le
Beau said. “And a dry one at that,” he said with disgust. The French had to
have wine with meals. Period.

“What is going on here?” came a gruff voice.
Everyone turned to see the soldier who had been at the gate, standing behind
Hogan.

“Heil Hitler,” greeted Schultz, saluting the
higher-ranked officer.

“Heil Hitler,” the soldier responded, returning the
salute. “What are you doing here with these men?”

“We are here to fix Kommandant Klink’s car,” Schultz
began.

“That’s right, from Stalag 13,” piped up Carter.

“Colonel Robert Hogan, senior POW,” said Hogan,
extending his hand. The look on the German’s face withered the smile on Hogan’s,
and he took back his hand.

“We are not supposed to have any unnecessary traffic
in this area today,” the soldier said. “By order of the SS.”

Schultz shuddered at the mention of the Nazi police.
“We were not informed, Herr Kapitan,” Schultz wavered. “The Kommandant must
have his car serviced by tomorrow.”

“Why the crackdown?” Hogan asked good-naturedly.

“None of your business, American,” said the soldier.
Hogan shrugged. The soldier turned to Schultz. “I am Kapitan Strohm, SS. On
special duty today. It is my responsibility to make sure there are no
unnecessary intrusions. If your Kommandant has special needs he will have to
make certain they do not interfere with SS business.”

“Sergeant Hans Schultz. And I am sure they will not, sir!” Schultz said.

“What do these men need to do?”

“We’re here to make sure everything is handled
properly. We’re the only mechanics the Kommandant trusts,” Hogan said with a
laugh.

“Believe it or not, we actually are good mechanics and car detailers,” Hogan said. “As a matter of
fact we were just about to head out to get a few special parts to make this car
something worthy of a Luftwaffe Colonel.”

Schultz’s mind drifted to the picnic that Le Beau
had put back in the car when Strohm appeared. The last thing on his mind was
getting spare parts for Klink’s car. He wanted the buffet, wine or no wine.

“You will stay here, Sergeant Schultz. I will take
this Colonel…Hogan, and…” he surveyed the others, then pointed to Newkirk,
“you, with me, to get the things you need.”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Hogan protested. “You
can’t just hand us over like a loaf of bread, Schultz. We don’t even know this guy.”

Strohm straightened as though to make himself
taller. He reached into his breast coat pocket. “My papers,” he said, handing
them to Schultz. “You will understand, of course, that I cannot allow any
disturbance today. If you want to fulfill your Kommandant’s orders, you will
have to involve me.”

Schultz gazed vaguely at the papers and then handed
them back. His own papers looked just as unremarkable. Only this man probably
made more money than he did. Sighing, he nodded his head. “Perhaps you can get
a bottle of wine while you are away, Colonel Hogan,” he said.

“Wine?” questioned Strohm.

“And some bread, too, Colonel,” said Le Beau.

“Bread? And wine?”

“Oh, and don’t forget to set things up with that
beautiful fraulein!” Carter added.

“Bread? Wine? Women? This is sounding more like a
party than a work detail, Sergeant!” suspected Strohm.

“You fellas may have to get the bread and the wine
on your own,” Hogan said, starting to walk toward the gate. “We’ll work on the
fraulein…if I can get Chuckles here to agree to it.”

Strohm glared at Hogan. “Someday, Colonel Hogan, the
Gestapo may have reason to question you.” Hogan stopped mid-step. “When that
happens I hope I am there to witness it.”

A scene flashed through Hogan’s brain, one of those
that had appeared often, trying to make his sometimes foggy Gestapo ordeal
clear, but blessedly failing. He collected himself, then followed the prompting
of Strohm’s rifle and headed toward the gate with Newkirk close behind.

Chapter Seven

Cross

Hogan concocted and abandoned plans with almost
every step as he and Newkirk were led down the main street. His mind was in a
whirl; how was he going to make this mission a success now? He knew Le Beau,
Carter, and Kinch would be safe enough with Schultz; they might even be able to
tamper with the cars of those involved in the meeting today. But how was he
going to find out what the Luftwaffe was capable of if he couldn’t get to the
contact? Stealing an occasional quick look at their stern, silent guard, Hogan
considered his options. Could he create a diversion? What if he suddenly became
ill when they were near the Landgasthaus? Would Strohm consider it necessary to
get him medical attention in the nearest building? A sharp memory of Strohm’s
comments about the Gestapo negated that possibility. A forced liberation? The streets
were unusually quiet today…. No, too risky, with too many disagreeable
consequences if it failed.

Hogan heard low grunting beside him and glanced at
Newkirk. The Englishman was shaking his head and muttering to himself,
something Hogan knew was a sign that Newkirk was angry, and worried. He had to
come up with something, and soon.

His concentration must have slowed his step, because
he suddenly found himself being prodded from behind. “Move, Colonel,” sneered
Strohm. “We have places to go.”

Hogan straightened to move his back away from the
barrel of the rifle.He tried not to
look at Strohm, whose uniform still sent shivers through him. “The spare parts
dealer might be a bit of a walk from here,” he commented dryly.

“There are more important things to attend to,”
Strohm answered. As they approached a street corner, he ordered, “Turn in
here.”

Hogan turned to see the entrance to a large
building. “This isn’t the shop,” he said.

“No. It is the Landgasthaus.” Hogan was instantly
alert. Newkirk’s grunting ceased and he looked at Hogan questioningly. “Now
move.” Waving his rifle, Strohm guided the two prisoners inside.

Looking around the grand lobby, Hogan looked for
anyone that could remotely be disguised as their contact, anyone who could see
the situation they were in and come to their aid. But to his dismay there was
no one in sight, not even a front desk clerk. Newkirk managed to whisper to
Hogan, “I don’t like the look of this, Colonel.”

Hogan shifted his weight, and briefly closed his
eyes to blot out the shiny black boots that flashed more unpleasant, indistinct
memories through his mind. He could not afford to lose his concentration, not
now. He found no humour in this exchange, and knew that even without Hogan’s
personal experiences behind him that Newkirk would not be amused either.
Hogan’s mind was ticking over a mile a minute. Strohm had no reason to suspect
them of anything. So why was he taking them for interrogation? And why at the
Landgasthaus, the one place that enemy soldiers should be nowhere near today?

A brief, pleasant conversation ensued, then Strohm
led Hogan and Newkirk to the lift. “I apologize for having to expose you to
that,” Strohm said quite unexpectedly as the doors shut.

Hogan kept his eyes facing forward. Newkirk gave a
start but did the same.

“You are probably anxious today,” Strohm continued.
“Worried. Thinking of your family.” Hogan again raised an eyebrow but said
nothing. “Have you family you miss, Colonel?”

Hogan glanced at Newkirk, whose eyes were telling a
story of distrust mixed with apprehension. “We all have family, Captain,” was
all Hogan said.

“My brother is on the Eastern front,” Strohm
confided. “I have not heard from him in months. All we have is a photograph.”
Hogan nodded, making eye contact briefly with Newkirk. He thought the
Englishman was going to scream in mere seconds. “Have you photos of your
family, Colonel?”

“I’ve managed to keep a couple, even in a
Luftstalag,” he answered.

“Of your girlfriend, perhaps? Your wife?”

“My mother.” Hogan nodded very briefly at Newkirk,
whose eyes were starting to widen in understanding.

“Perhaps you have it with you. I would like to see
an American mother.”

Hogan nodded carefully. Then, displaying his empty
hands to Strohm, he slowly reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a
photo. A woman in a dress, standing outside a cheerful home. There was half an
arm around her shoulders that had no one attached to it; the photo had been
ripped in half. “That’s Mom,” he said, his hands cold with fear and
anticipation.

“Here is my brother,” said Strohm, reaching for his
own family portrait. Blimey, thought
Newkirk, this is a strange time for a
family reunion! But Strohm pulled out a torn picture of a young man,
smiling, his arm outstretched, wrapping around…. nothing. Newkirk watched in
amazement as Strohm brought the photograph up to the one Hogan held, and the
arm then embraced the woman. The photo was now complete.

Hogan stared at the armed man. “Angus Voelker?” he
said in disbelief.

“Yes, Colonel. Well, Kurt really. But now I know I
can trust you as well.” Hogan gave him an inquiring look. “Agents are told my
name is Angus; if someone has intercepted them, the replacement would never
think to use such a name for me.”

The German’s body relaxed and he smiled. Newkirk
thought he would pass out in relief. “Peter Newkirk,” he said, shakily
extending his hand. “Blimey, mate, you sure know how to put a guy off.”

Voelker took the offered handshake. “It is part of
my job to be as convincing as possible. I trust you will forgive the rudeness
of my previous demeanour.”

Hogan had to physically shake off his discomfiture
before he spoke again. “You were uh…quite credible as a Gestapo goon,” he said.
“Speaking from experience.”

“I beg your pardon, Colonel Hogan. I did not
realize…”

“Forget it,” said Hogan, as much to himself as to
Voelker. “We’ve got work to do.”

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened
into an ornate hallway. Voelker resumed his role as an SS official as they
passed two other guards, and then led them into a hotel room, where he locked
the door behind them. He put aside his rifle immediately and turned to face
Hogan and Newkirk. “The meeting is taking place on the level above us. They
have all assembled and are getting underway shortly. SS and Gestapo guards are
in place securely around the conference room. The only way in or out is through
them.”

“Or as one of
them,” Hogan said. “I take it that’s why you’re dressed as you are; not
just because black compliments your figure.”

“Exactly.” Voelker smiled briefly at Hogan’s attempt
at lightness. “And it is why you have similar uniforms here for yourselves. You
would not get very far wandering around here dressed as an American Colonel and
an RAF Corporal.”

“How many are there?” asked Hogan.

“Fourteen, Colonel.And a dozen SS and Gestapo guards at any given time, working on a
rotating schedule. They are due to change the guards in twenty minutes. That
will give you just enough time to get ready.”

“There’s time before they’ll look for you on shift.
Let’s go through some of the details. We need to know what to expect when you
come back. What kind of people are in there?”

“Luftwaffe intelligence; some of the best
strategists of the Third Reich. This offensive is intended to obliterate the
Allied forces as never before. Each of these men has been hand-picked by
Hitler. Apparently he is getting impatient with his army’s lack of progress,
particularly on the Eastern front. He has authorised a full-scale, all-out
offensive strike.”

“Four hours. Some are posted in the room, some out.
There have been bodyguards assigned to these men since almost dawn today.”

“Very precious cargo. You’ll need to be inside. I
appreciate the position you have put yourself in, Voelker.”

Voelker didn’t answer. Hogan didn’t like the
silence. “You’d better get moving, or you might be missed,” he prompted.
Voelker maintained his silence. He seemed to be having an internal battle which
was playing out on his face. Hogan considered, exchanging quizzical looks with
Newkirk, then said, “I know this is a dangerous mission, Voelker. But a lot of
people’s lives depend on it.”

Voelker looked Hogan squarely in the eye. “Yes, many
people’s lives depend on me, Colonel Hogan,” he said. “Including my family’s.”
Hogan felt his stomach tightening, but he said nothing. “I cannot do any more
for you today, Colonel,” Voelker announced.

Hogan just blinked. Voelker couldn’t mean what Hogan
thought he meant. “I will not be meeting the guards for the changeover,”
Voelker said.

Newkirk moved in closer to Hogan, who suddenly
trembled in a cold sweat. Were they being betrayed? “What do you mean?” Hogan
asked, dangerously quiet.

“You will need me to get back to your companions;
for that I will stay,” said Voelker. “I will wait here until you are ready to
return. But I will not be a part of that meeting.”

“Why bleedin’ not?” burst Newkirk.

“It is time for me to finish my work with the
Underground,” Voelker said. “My wife and I are worried about our family’s future.
Our daughter, she is the right age for Himmler’s reproduction plan.” He looked
at Hogan, his eyes suddenly flashing anger and defiance. “I will not let Anna
become a breeding machine for the Third Reich. Not for the Allied cause. And
not for you.”

Hogan paused, momentarily speechless. “When were you
planning to tell us this?” Hogan spat. Inwardly, he cursed himself. He knew
that Voelker was trying to protect his family. He knew that taking part in this
mission was putting Voelker’s life at risk, and, indirectly, his family’s
lives. He knew that any man had a right—and a vow—to protect his family, and
that he was asking Voelker to put all that in jeopardy. But he also knew that
only rooms away a plan was being formed to put many thousands of lives in danger.
And he didn’t have an alternate plan of action in place to secure the
information the Allies needed.

“It is not a decision I have made lightly, Colonel.
But I must put my family before all.”

“And what kind of future do you think your family’s
gonna have when the Germans take over the rest
of the free world? Do you think your daughter is suddenly going to be
unattractive to a bunch of lonely Kraut soldiers back from the front, who
haven’t been near a female in months?” Newkirk argued bitterly.

“Stow it, Newkirk,” Hogan ordered.

“Sorry, Colonel,” he mumbled. “But what are we going
to do?”

Hogan let out a deep sigh. “I’ll take the guard duty
myself.”

“But Colonel—” protested Newkirk.

But Hogan cut him off. “We don’t have a choice,” he
nearly snapped. “We have to get those plans.” Newkirk nodded his solemn
understanding. Hogan looked at Voelker, whose boldness had receded into a stoic
resolve, then back to his subordinate. “Voelker says he’ll stay to get us out.
You stay here and keep an eye on him. Make sure that he keeps his promise. I’ll
meet the changing of the guards myself, get the information we need, and come
back here. After that it’s back to Schultz.” He picked up Voelker’s abandoned
rifle and shoved it at Newkirk. “Use that
if you have to.”

Newkirk whistled under his breath in surprise. “How
long will you be, Colonel?” he asked.

“Shifts are four hours.” He firmed his own tenacity,
and turned to be face to face with Newkirk. “Time to test your papers, mate,”
he said. Newkirk pulled them carefully out of his uniform and with a silent
prayer handed them to Hogan. “I’ll get changed. Where are our clothes?” he
asked Voelker.

Voelker pointed to the adjoining room. “I’ll be
ready in ten minutes.” He paused to draw a strengthening breath. “I hope you
made the shirt 42 regular. I get lost in anything much bigger.” He disappeared
into the other room.

“And he’d better make it back,” Newkirk growled at
Voelker. “Or you’ll have a lot more to worry about than Germany’s repopulation
program.”

Chapter Eight

Justification

Sergeant Schultz dabbed delicately at the sides of
his mouth with a napkin as he sighed contentedly. “That was beautiful, Le Beau. Beautiful!” He leaned against the side of Klink’s car with a smile
that very little would be able to wipe away.

Le Beau, for his part, was sporting a scowl. As he
stuffed the remnants of his cuisine back in the picnic basket, he could not
help but think about his commanding officer and his comrade. Hogan and Newkirk
had been gone for over two hours, and all those left behind had learned was
that the meeting place was two blocks away. It might as well have been two
miles. Kinch had roamed the perimeter of the fence, ostensibly to see if he
could spot Hogan, Newkirk, and Strohm. And while that was high on his list of
priorities, he knew that Hogan would want his men to continue with their part
of the plan: to find and wire the cars of the people in the Luftwaffe meeting.

Carter, meanwhile, was thoroughly—and
slowly—polishing the outside of the car. “What now?” he whispered to Kinch when
he returned. “The Colonel was supposed to meet the contact at the Landgasthaus,
wasn’t he?”

“He wasn’t told,” said Kinch. “He was just told that
Voelker would make himself known, and was given the contact code.”

“Maybe we can convince Schultz to go and look for
him,” said Le Beau. “Then we would know for ourselves where he and Newkirk are,
and make sure they are safe.”

Kinch nodded. “Okay, let’s give it a shot. Maybe we
can get closer to the cars that way, too.” Kinch broke away from his companions
and casually approached Schultz, who seemed about ready to doze in contentment.
“I admire the way you’re handling this, Schultz.”

“Danke,” Schultz responded, still grinning broadly,
his eyes half closed in satisfaction. Happily settling himself against the side
of the car, his face suddenly dropped and his eyes opened wide. “Sergeant
Kinchloe, handling what?”

“This Captain Strohm barging in and taking off with
the Colonel and Newkirk,” Kinch answered, positioning himself comfortably
beside Schultz. He crossed his arms and considered. “I mean, they went for
spare parts a long time ago and haven’t come back. I’d hate to be you, going
back to Stalag 13 with two fewer people than you started out with.”

Le Beau picked up the thread and, wiping his hands
from any remaining crumbs, squinted in the sun as he bombarded Schultz’s sense
of peace as well. “Oui, what will Colonel Klink say when he finds out you lost
two of your prisoners?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty careless, y’know, Schultz,” piped
up Carter.

Schultz’s face had by now lost any boastfulness, and
instead he was looking almost wildly from one prisoner to the other. “No, no,
no, no!” he said. “Herr Kapitan
outranks me; he could have done as he pleased!”

“But you had orders to keep your eyes on your
prisoners, Schultz. From the Kommandant!” argued Le Beau.

“Oh, Cockroach,
why did you not say something about this earlier?”

Le Beau grinned as he watched panic set in. Good,
this just might work. “And you did not even find out where they were going.
They could be half way to Berlin by now!”

Schultz was starting to look apoplectic. Time to
deliver the final punch, thought Kinch. “It’s your responsibility to find them,
Schultz.”

“But where do I look? It is like Le Beau said, they
could be anywhere!” Schultz fretted.

“We will have to comb the streets, Schultz.” Le Beau
shook his head in mock disgust. “I do not know how such a good soldier could
let this happen. But we had better start soon. You do not know where that
Strohm has taken them.” Then, to himself, Le Beau realised, We do not know where he has taken them. Just
let them be safe.

“What do we do? What do we do?” Schultz was
rambling.

“Don’t worry, Schultz,” Kinch comforted. “Let’s get
in the car and do a nice, methodical search of Hammelburg.”

“But what happens if Herr Kapitan comes back here
while we are gone?”

“Well one of us could stay behind while you search,
Schultz,” offered Carter.

“Jolly joker,” mumbled the corpulent guard. “I have
already misplaced two; I cannot afford to misplace another.” Sighing, he heaved
himself off the car and opened the door. “Let’s go, boys. From the look of it,
he will not be coming back of his own accord anytime soon.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Colonel Robert Hogan was meanwhile standing at full
attention, eyes forward, face expressionless. To the unknowing bystander he was
simply a dedicated and well-trained SS soldier, silently pledging his life to
protect the Fuhrer and his appointed leaders.But inside, his mind was processing everything he saw and heard,
archiving it all for future retrieval when the time came.

It had not been particularly difficult to get into
the conference room; armed with the exquisitely done papers that Newkirk had
furnished him, and clad in the perfect uniform provided by Voelker, Hogan had
simply presented himself when the changing of the guard shift took place. Hogan
thanked his lucky stars again and again that the SS guards wore coats that
could cover the sight of the perspiration soaking through his shirt. It was
hard enough to take on a mission unexpectedly, but to put on the uniform of the
men who had caused him so much anguish mere weeks ago was an exercise in
self-torture. Thankful for the privacy when changing, Hogan had had to stop
when putting on the boots; his whole body was shaking so much he could not pull
them up properly. He wiped his face with a trembling hand and gripped the side
of the bed while he tried to calm his breathing. Get over it, Hogan, he said to himself, frustrated, and, if he
admitted it, scared. Get over it or
you’ll get yourself killed.

He had come out of the room on unsteady legs,
reviewed his orders with Newkirk—mainly, to keep Voelker around long enough for
him and Newkirk to be able to get back to the others when ready—and left to
take over the mission in which he had intended to have a much lesser role.

So now, after only the briefest of direct
questioning, mainly related to his paperwork, here he was, by the minute
becoming more horrified by what he heard, and working hard not to let any of it
show. Words came into his head and were immediately sorted and sent to separate
sections of his brain. Scorched
earth…complete annihilation… loss of life irrelevant… submission of the Allies
to save their helpless comrades… And visions of fiery destruction and
ruthless killing that made Hogan want to weep. How could any man, any person
who claimed to be a human being, agree so easily to these ideas? He felt a
chilling fear mixed with anger rising inside his chest, pounding hard from the
inside to demand release as a primal scream. Other things he found disturbing
but could not fully comprehend: brief mentions of camps, round-ups,
purification. Combined with the details of what seemed like an offensive
encompassing the entire Luftwaffe in one massive air strike, Hogan felt as
though he were suffocating under the weight of the wickedness pressing down on
the room.

Suddenly the closeness of the officer near him made
Hogan nauseous. “Ein
Getrank, bitte, privat,” Hogan said, nodding toward the glass and jug on the table.

“Jawohl,
Leutnant,” said the soldier, moving away. Hogan took a deep gulp of air. One
more hour of this.

The
man returned with a glass. Hogan downed the contents quickly, then handed it
back to the soldier. “Danke,” he
said. “Sie
trinken außerdem.” He directed the young
man to drink himself, anxious to be as far from him as possible. “Nicht für eine lange Zeit kann bewegen Sie
schwächen.” He doubted that any weakness the man would be feeling would be
from standing for a long period, but the excuse was enough to make the Private
do as he was told, and Hogan was grateful for the respite.

The convention continued, and Hogan had to admit that he
completely missed some of it. Every word was a revelation to him of the cunning
and heartlessness of the Third Reich. As images washed over him, he felt sweat
trickling down his back, and he gripped his rifle more tightly to combat the
sickness he felt closing in on him. A severe, unyielding headache was building
in his skull, but this was hardly the time for such a debilitating attack. He
could not look down or close his eyes, for fear of being pulled up for slacking
on the job, and he could not face the other men guarding the meeting, for fear
of being physically sick. He instead stared at nothing, his eyes taking on a
faraway expression, his intellect handling the information but trying
desperately not to assimilate it.

Hogan could not think clearly past the incessant pounding in his
head. Every noise in the room was amplified: that chair that got scraped across
the floor as a small, angry Major rose in defense of his idea was dragged
across the front of Hogan’s brain; the glass being slammed down on the table as
debated points were volleyed back and forth echoed near his temples; the voices
raised in anger or excitement were shouting in his ears. He felt himself
weakening. I’m not going to make it,
he panicked. He brought a hand up to his stomach, fighting to get himself
together. Then, very gradually, he felt his breathing stabilize. The clamminess
of his hands went away, the cold sweat drying uncomfortably on his back and
forehead.

The arguments and strategic planning continued, and now Hogan was
hearing it more clearly than he wanted to. Abandoned
areas must be unfit for future use… dive bombers will always get through…
starvation of the masses through destruction of food depots and supply lines
will force capitulation… economic strangulation… if Russia falls, England will
follow… .

This madness has
to be stopped, Hogan managed to think. What
these men are planning is nothing short of a massacre; a massacre, with no code
of honor or rules of war. And he turned his beleaguered mind to his men,
praying with all his strength they would be able to stop these madmen from
getting their plans back to Berlin. The Allies had to formulate a plan to
destroy the Luftwaffe, before it helped to change the face of Europe.

***** *****
***** ***** ***** ***** *****

“I know you do not understand the decision I have made,” Voelker
said to Newkirk.

Newkirk was leaning against the wall of the small room, still
holding the rifle Hogan had thrust at him before leaving. “You’re right, I
don’t,” he answered. “You want to save your family, but you’re not willing to
do anything about it. Do you think it matters to the Nazis if you were involved
in espionage or not? They’ll still want your daughter.”

“I will get her out of Germany,” Voelker said. “Somehow.”

“Why back out of this mission half way through?”

Voelker shrugged, then shifted his position on the bed
uncomfortably. “Cold feet, I think you would call it. The sheer rank and number
of Luftwaffe and SS here—if I am discovered then I cannot help my family at
all. And I could make it worse for them if I am caught.”

Newkirk pushed himself away from the wall. “So you’ll leave that
charming risk to Colonel Hogan,” he said. “He’s already faced the Gestapo once,
you know. I don’t think he’s any more anxious than you to deal with them.”

Voelker nodded. “So I understand. It is regrettable. It is difficult
to ask a man to put himself in such a position once, never mind twice.”

“Difficult, but you’ve managed nicely,” Newkirk said
sarcastically. “You know, thanks to your little trick we still don’t even know
where the bloody cars are. Part of our mission is to make sure these plans
don’t get back to Berlin. What are we supposed to do about that, give all the
men lobotomies?”

“The cars are parked in a lot next door, guarded by more SS
members,” Voelker said.

“Fine,” said Newkirk. “I’ll get changed into that German uniform,
and we’ll go have a look. We still have over an hour before the Colonel’s due
back here.” He patted the rifle. “And don’t get any ideas, Voelker. This little
mate of mine gets a bit anxious at times like this.”

Voelker stood up but made no move towards Newkirk. “Just for the
record, gov’nor,” added the Englishman, “I know you love your family, and I
respect that. But you’ve put a lot of people I care about at risk now, and that
makes me edgy, if you know what I mean.”

“It is a difficult time for us all,” said Voelker solemnly. “Men
do things they wish they did not have to.”

Newkirk nodded, and, making sure he had the rifle by his side,
grabbed his clothes to get changed.

Chapter
Nine

Whose
Side Are You On?

“Look,
Kinch, there is Newkirk!” whispered Le Beau excitedly, making sure to keep
Schultz out of earshot.

“What’s
he doing with Strohm dressed like that?”
Carter asked.

“And
where is the Colonel?” wondered Le Beau.

Kinch
waved his arm out the window, trying to get the attention of Newkirk, who was
standing near a chain link fence with Strohm close by. They seemed to be deep
in conversation when Newkirk saw them and nodded. Turning quickly to Strohm,
the two of them disappeared into the building.

“Hey,
Schultz, that’s Newkirk!” shouted Kinch, suddenly becoming animated and
pointing to where the pair had been standing. He passed his thoughts to the
others with a brief look.

“Where?”
Schultz asked, almost running the car off the road. “Where is he, Sergeant Kinchloe?”

“I’m
sure I just saw him and Captain Strohm going into that building there!” Le Beau
said. “We will have to follow them.”

Schultz
wasted no time pulling over. He did his best to jump out of the car, forgetting
his rifle, with his prisoners close behind. “Where? Where are they?” Schultz
said. “Are you sure you saw them?”

“Oui,
oui—they went inside here, Schultz,” said Le Beau.

“Let’s
go,” said Kinch, starting towards the door.

Schultz
was pulled up by Carter. “Here you go, Schultz,” he said, handing the guard his
weapon. “We have to look like you’re in charge.”

“Oh.
Danke, Carter,” he answered, slinging it over his shoulder. Le Beau raised his
eyes toward the heavens and shook his head.

They
encountered Strohm as they entered the lobby. “Where are Colonel Hogan and
Newkirk?” Le Beau burst, looking around. Neither was anywhere to be found.

“Yeah,
what have you done with them?” Carter added, puzzled.

Strohm
merely nodded to acknowledge their presence, refusing to become agitated by
their anxiety. “Colonel Hogan is answering some questions for my colleagues,”
he said calmly. Hogan’s men had flashbacks that they did not enjoy of their
commanding officer’s last question-and-answer session with the Germans. But
they did not understand Newkirk’s absence, or why he was dressed as an SS
soldier. “Your Englishman is with him, and will be returned to you soon.”
Kinch, Carter, and Le Beau’s eyes spoke to each other. That’s not true. What’s going on?

“Herr
Kapitan,” said Schultz, saluting nervously. “I have orders to bring Colonel
Hogan and Corporal Newkirk back to Stalag 13 with these other men.”

“Don’t
worry, Sergeant. They will go with you. I am sure they will be of very little
use to us, when we are finished.” He fixed Schultz with a contemptuous stare.
“I thought these men were to be detailing your Kommandant’s car.”

“Jawohl,
Herr Kapitan, they have done so. But they were waiting for Colonel Hogan
to—to—”

“Yes,
I know, to bring wine, bread, and a beautiful fraulein. I recall it exactly,”
Strohm said. “Wait here,” he ordered. “I will bring you your Corporal.” And he
turned on his heel and walked away.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“I
will take you downstairs and organize for your men to get to the cars,” Voelker
said, as Newkirk put on his RAF jacket and cap. “That will be a simple process,
and one which your Sergeant Schultz can oversee on his own.”

“The
next shift should be starting any minute. We will wait for your Colonel, and
then I will get you out.”

“Do
the others know who you really are?”

“I
do not think so. They seemed concerned. Or perhaps they are just good actors,
like yourself and your Colonel Hogan.”

“Let’s
hope he’s winding up his acting career on a high.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan
found his way back to the room where Newkirk and Voelker were waiting, in a
fog. He had survived the remainder of his SS guard stint by sheer force of will.
Shifting his brain into autopilot, he steadfastly ignored the jackhammer in his
head and the rolling waves in his stomach. As Luftwaffe plans were being ironed
out and accepted, Hogan had taken in the words, now numb to their implications,
and committed details of movements, supply locations, and tactics to memory.
Then, when replacement guards suddenly appeared, he had come off duty with the
smart salute of a Third Reich devotee, and parted company with the others as
quickly as he could do so without arousing suspicion.

As
Hogan closed the door to Voelker’s room, all the strength went out of him and
he sank involuntarily to his knees. Sick inside and trembling with weakness, he
succumbed easily to the hands helping him toward the bed. “Gov’nor, what happened?
Are you all right?”

He
heard Newkirk’s anxious voice somewhere nearby and tried to reassure him. “I’m
okay… just… felt dizzy for a minute….” And he tried to wave him away, but
winced painfully when he shook his head and stopped.

“Did
they hurt you, Colonel?” pressed Newkirk.

“No,”
Hogan managed. “Just … have a headache…. It’ll go away soon. Too … much… time
with the bad guys.” He was trying hard not to vomit. “Get—get these boots—off
me.”

“Bloody
Gestapo scum,” Newkirk seethed. He gestured for Voelker to help him do as
ordered. He helped Hogan lay back on the bed. “Bleedin’ filth,” he spat.
“Somebody’s gotta put ’em in their place.”

No
one spoke as Hogan slowly regained his energy. Newkirk got him a glass of
water, and loosened his uniform shirt around his neck. Eventually Hogan sat up
again, vaguely pushing the caring hands away. “I’ll be okay,” he said,
convincing no one. The throbbing in his head had receded so that he could hear
more clearly, and the queasiness seemed to be under control for now. But the
words he had heard wouldn’t go away. They would never go away, he feared.

“We
got what we needed,” he rasped. “More than enough.” Newkirk was still hovering
like an anxious mother bird. “I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to make his voice
sound sterner and more in control. “I just got caught off-guard, that’s all.
Let me get this immoral uniform off and back into my own clothes and we’ll get
moving. How are we going with the cars?” Newkirk continued to look
apprehensive. “Newkirk, will you cut it out? What’s going on?” Hogan said,
wishing instantly that he hadn’t raised his voice.

“—Well,
Colonel,” Newkirk said, shaking himself back to work, “Voelker has shown me
where the cars are kept, and he was just about to take us downstairs to get to
them. Le Beau, Carter, and Kinch are down there with Schultz.”

“How
are you planning to do that?” asked Hogan.

“Well,
Colonel, we could do another round of guard duty—” This time it was Hogan’s
turn to shoot a withering look. Voelker stopped. “But I presume that would not
be the preferred method.”

“No,
it would not.” Hogan put up a hand to
stop Voelker from continuing. “Newkirk, have the fellas got any more car polish
left?”

“I
don’t know, Colonel; I haven’t spoken to them yet.”

“Doesn’t
matter. I’m sure they can manage to scrape some up. Voelker, what if they get
volunteered to do a nice spit and polish job on the Luftwaffe cars as well?”

“That
may work; they have told me they are already done with your Colonel Klink’s
car. But they do not know me yet, Colonel. They may be reluctant to carry out a
sabotage job with me in their presence.”

“You
don’t know my boys,” said Hogan, smiling slightly for the first time since they
arrived in Hammelburg. “They could smile in Hitler’s face if it meant being
able to stab him in the back. We’ll just explain everything; they’ll be fine.”
He stood up, unsteady but determined. “Come on, there’s work to do. I don’t
know how much longer that meeting’s going to go on. They seem to have had
things pretty well planned when I was there, and I want to make sure they have
absolutely no chance to put any of
those theories into practice.”

“Please,
Colonel,” broke in Voelker. “I have already promised your men I would bring
Newkirk to them. They think you are being interrogated.” Hogan started, then
simply eyed Voelker angrily. “I am sorry; it was the only way to explain your
presence at the Landgasthaus to your Sergeant Schultz. If I take Corporal
Newkirk downstairs, it will give you time to change and recover. And I would
like to have a word with you, as a gentleman.”

Hogan,
torn between his sense of urgency and his need to stop, even for just a few
minutes, silently agreed, and Voelker and Newkirk departed.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“Pierre,
are you all right? Did les cochons harm you? What about le Colonel?”

“Settle,
settle, Louis, I’m fine,” soothed Newkirk as he approached his colleagues from
the lift. “Colonel Hogan is okay, too.” He pulled in closer to them as Schultz
praised Strohm for the safe return of at least one of his missing prisoners. In
a low voice, he added, “That’s Voelker,” and nodded, then quickly straightened
as the faces of the others registered surprise, and even anger.

“Sergeant
Schultz. Since your men seem to have so much time on their hands, and since you
insist on waiting for your Colonel Hogan before going back to you Luftstalag, I
think it would be very … nice… if they would give the same care and detail to
the cars in the adjoining lot as they have to your Kommandant’s vehicle,” Voelker
suggested.

Schultz
balked at the idea. “I—I—Herr Kapitan, I just have to make sure I get Colonel
Hogan and head back to the Stalag. He is our senior POW officer,” he said
pleadingly. “How long will he be tied up?”

“A
fine choice of words,” said Voelker, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Newkirk
shook his head. Good thing I know he’s on
our side. I think. “Hogan will be… tied up… for a bit longer. Certainly
long enough for those cars to be well looked after.”

“Your
job is to look after us, Schultz—never mind any possible court martial,” said
Kinch.

“Or
transfer to the Russian front,” Le Beau continued. The others laughed heartily,
trying to show Schultz how much they admired his rebellious streak.

“The Russian front?” Schultz repeated,
his eyes widening.

“That’s
right, Schultz—defying a superior officer. That’s really big of you, Schultz,
looking after us like that,” said Newkirk, with a sniff. “Makes me feel warm
all over.”

“Yeah,
why should we look after some Kraut’s
car—no offence,” said Le Beau with a nod towards Voelker.

“Wait
a minute, wait a minute!” Schultz
finally stammered. “You boys have nothing better to do while you wait for
Colonel Hogan; I think you should head out to the cars and do as you have been
ordered to by Herr Kapitan Strohm.”

The
foursome groused and grumbled as they headed outside, followed by Voelker. “Hey
Schultz, at least let me have something to eat,” Newkirk said. “You don’t think
my hosts were kind enough to provide lunch, do you?”

“Hosts…jolly
joker,” mumbled Schultz. “Fine, you will take the picnic basket with you.” He
turned to Le Beau, who was starting to get his temper up. “I know, Corporal Le
Beau, I know—no one else will touch your food.”

Le
Beau smiled and went to the back of Klink’s car, away from Schultz, quickly
loading the basket with charges and handing it to Newkirk. “There may even be
enough for you to have seconds, Schultz,” said Le Beau graciously.

“Seconds?
You mean thirds,” said Kinch.

“Fourths,”
corrected Carter.

“I
will let the guard know of your job. I want to see these cars looking their
best when I come back. No excuses!” Voelker barked.

“Jawohl, Kapitan Strohm,” agreed Schultz.

“I
will check on the progress of your beloved Colonel Hogan,” Voelker sneered.
“You would be wise to be working diligently, Sergeant.”

“Jawohl,
Herr Kapitan,” said Schultz again. “Jawohl.”

After
Voelker had words with the SS guard watching over the parking lot, he ordered
Schultz and the heroes in, and disappeared back inside. Le Beau handed out some
snacks from the basket to Schultz and the other guard, while Carter carefully
removed the explosives. Newkirk and Kinch then began to polish the bonnets of
the cars farthest from the men with the rifles, and asked to open the hoods, so
even the engines could have a luster to be proud of.

Chapter Ten

And Double
Cross

“I
want to tell you why I have made this decision, Colonel Hogan.”

Hogan had focused on regaining his composure when
Voelker and Newkirk left him. He wished most for aspirin to curb his forceful
headache, but that was hard to come by when he was in a hotel in the middle of
Hammelburg, surrounded by people who could cure his pain permanently. So he
simply lay still for a few minutes, willing himself to ignore the tenderness of
his head and body. When he thought he had a chance of being successful, he sat
up slowly and peeled the SS uniform from his tired limbs. He breathed easier as
he pulled on his own shirt, pants, and shoes, and had nearly sighed in relief
as he felt his bomber jacket embrace his shoulders.

Hogan walked to the mirror to fix his hair. He
frowned when he saw his drawn features, displayed on a pale face that almost
trumpeted his soreness. “You look like you could use a day off,” he greeted
himself wryly, then snorted at the slimness of the prospect. The most he could
hope for was a decent night’s sleep— even with his nightmares he was willing to
risk it. But he knew that, too, would be denied him until this mission was
completed.

Now he stood facing Voelker, still wary of the man
whose allegiances seemed to waver. A talk “between gentlemen” was not what he
had in mind, and he wanted nothing more than to get out. Even Stalag 13 was
starting to look good. But here was Voelker, wanting to talk. “You don’t have
to explain anything to me,” Hogan said.

“Do not get me wrong, Colonel; I am not asking for a
pardon. I am doing what I must do to protect my family. A man accepts what he
cannot change, and changes what he cannot accept.” Hogan offered him a slight
nod in response. “I simply want you to understand. What you heard in that
Luftwaffe meeting today shocked you, did it not?”

“It would not have shocked me. You see, Colonel
Hogan, when Adolf Hitler first came to power, I was among the many who thought
he would revitalize the Fatherland. He promised security to the workers,
economic empowerment for Germany. He was able to make allies of other
countries, to get them to make territorial concessions. We were a nation to be
respected again. We were all behind Hitler. He was a man of destiny. Even I had
given him my soul.” Voelker stopped, as though ashamed of his admission. Hogan
had the grace to turn away.

“But then things started happening,” Voelker resumed.
“The police—the Fuhrer’s Schutzstaffel—became
a force to be feared, instead of respected and admired. The churches were
oppressed, the Jews began to be badly treated. We started hearing stories of
atrocities, of power gone mad…. We—I – became disillusioned. I thought being
part of the German Resistance would be a way to help shorten this war, and
remove people like Hitler, Goering, and Himmler from power, that it would
loosen the terrible grip they have on this country. But it has not. And now,
Colonel, now I have a wife, Katrina, and a daughter, Anna, who is seventeen. A
son, Colonel Hogan: Erich, who is seven years old. And I am afraid. Afraid for
their future.”

Hogan had stood silently during this narrative,
growing more and more somber. He didn’t want any of this explained to him; when
people he encountered in this business opened themselves up to him it made it
more personal, and he couldn’t afford the luxury of feeling friendship or
kinship with them. There were too many decisions that could be hampered by
emotion. And still, Voelker’s words touched him. To believe so much in a leader
to free your people, and to have that crushed in a way too horrific to accept,
must be an unbearable burden. And coupled with a fear for the safety of those
you love… Hogan simply nodded, respectfully. “Thank you for taking the time to
tell me,” he said softly, his voice affected by his thoughts.

He replaced his crush cap, and turned to leave.
“We’d better get going,” Hogan said. “My men should be about done with the cars
by now, and we’ve got to get this information to London as soon as possible.”
Voelker didn’t move to join him. “Voelker,” Hogan prompted. Maybe the man was
still deep in his shame. “Kurt—”

“Colonel Hogan, you and your men are doing fine
things for civilians at your camp. Your operation is widely respected and
admired.” Voelker seemed to shake his body into alertness.

“We do our best; we get four and half stars in your
local travel guide.” Hogan hoped his lightness would mask this feeling of
foreboding that was beginning to eat away at him.

“I have actually had the opportunity to learn much
about your undertaking. You see, you helped a friend of mine get out of Germany
several months ago.” Hogan did a double-take. If someone was leaking
information about the operation it could put them all in jeopardy. “Do not
worry, Colonel, he did not have the opportunity to pass on specific details of
your unit. But he did manage to do something else for me.”

“What’s that?” asked Hogan, not really wanting to
know.

“You are quite a good actor, Colonel Hogan,” Voelker
said, ignoring the question.

Hogan shrugged, uneasy. “Comes with the job,” he
acknowledged.

“You
stay very calm in unexpected situations,” Voelker continued. Hogan said
nothing. “So do I.” Hogan raised his eyebrows when he found himself facing the
barrel of a pistol. “Put your weapons on the table.”

“This
day just gets better and better,” Hogan remarked resignedly. He raised his
hands slightly up and away from his body. Then, keeping his movements slow and
deliberate, he brought a small gun from his pocket and dropped it on the coffee
table.

“You
will get me and my family to Switzerland, Colonel.”

“I
can’t get you there; you know that.”

“England,
then. Anywhere! We have to get away from Germany. It is not safe here.”

“You
picked a heck of a time to notice; you’ve been part of the Underground for more
than a year.”

“Colonel
Hogan. I appreciate the work you do. And the sacrifices you make. But my family
is in danger. They must come first. You will get us out.” Hogan continued to
listen, once again finding words inadequate. “You will return to Stalag 13, and
you will not say a word about this to anyone. You will make plans for my wife
and children to escape. And myself.”

“I
would have been happy to do that without the steel persuasion,” Hogan said with
a vague gesture towards the gun. Voelker did not move. Hogan sighed. “Okay, but
we’ll need time. Stalag 13 doesn’t usually have kiddie quarters”.

“The
comrade whom I told you about, the one you helped. He helped me as well. He was
able to make contact with someone in your camp who understands what is at stake
for us of the German Resistance. Somewhere in your POW camp is a bomb, Colonel.
If I do not show up there within a week of this meeting, this person will
detonate it. I will not tell you where to find it, nor who it is that knows of
its location. You will go back to camp, and do as I have asked, or someone will
die.”

Hogan
straightened his back uncomfortably. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You
don’t.” Hogan nodded grimly, knowing he was cornered. “But you cannot take any
chances, can you?”

“You
don’t have to do this,” Hogan said. He turned to Voelker. “You could have just
asked and we would have helped.”

“I
trust no one, Colonel Hogan,” Voelker answered. “Not even you.”

Hogan
felt his headache come back full force. This could endanger the lives of his
men, or his operation, or both. “Voelker,” he said wearily, “just call off your
goon. We’ll get you and your family out somehow. You don’t have to threaten us;
we’re the good guys, remember?”

“I
can no longer believe in men wearing white hats, Colonel Hogan. All hats are
grey, their final color to be determined by the outcome of any given venture.”
Voelker shrugged. “Consider it a compliment, Colonel. If I did not have such
faith in your ability to get my family and myself to safety, I would never have
considered such a maneuver.”

“I’ll
be sure to include that in the travel brochure: ‘An operation to die for.’”
Hogan rubbed the space between his eyebrows and tried to think clearly. “All
right, a week. We’ll have you out by then. How do we contact you when we’re
ready?”

“Make
your usual contact with the Underground, Colonel. Tell them you need a music
teacher and that you have pupils eager to learn. I will be contacted.”

“You’d
better pack light, Voelker; this isn’t going to be a pleasure trip.”

“You
need not worry, Colonel Hogan; we gave up many things we held dear long ago.”
Voelker, who had over the course of the conversation become more and more
rigid, seemed to relax. “We know we can start again, wherever we are. As long
as we are all together.”

Hogan
considered Voelker’s statement, and with a pang of envy at the man’s close
family ties, he nodded briefly. “My men are waiting.”

“Fine.
Let us go, Colonel. There is much to do. And you are on a deadline.” He handed
Hogan back his weapon, and the two of them left the hotel.

Chapter Eleven

Musings

Hogan
met his men downstairs feeling ten years older than when he has last seen them.
This was always going to be a tough mission, but this one had gone so awry that
he hardly knew whose side who was on. So it was hardly a surprise to him to see
Le Beau chatting happily with the guard in front of the parking lot, handing
him the remains of what looked like an apple strudel. Somewhere in his brain
Hogan registered the fact that he hadn’t eaten since he left the camp that
morning, but he was in no state to stomach food now.

Le
Beau approached as soon as he saw his commanding officer. “Colonel, are you all
right?” he asked, giving Hogan a thorough looking over. “You do not look well.”

“We’ve
got trouble. Big trouble. How are you
going with your little assignment?”

“Carter
is nearly done, Colonel. But I had to give up almost all my finest cooking to
do it.”

“We’ll
put you in for a Medal of Valor,” Hogan said. “Let’s get outta here.” He
approached Schultz, who was picking through the crumbs left in the basket the
other guard had abandoned. “Schultz, I want you to know I protest this
treatment. Here we were, coming into Hammelburg to do a good deed, and we end
up polishing everyone else’s cars and being questioned for nothing. The Red
Cross is going to hear about this.”

“Oh,
Colonel Hogan, I am so happy to see you back!” Schultz cried. “Please, Colonel,
the men were just waiting for you. They said they wanted to occupy their minds;
we were—they were—so worried about
you! Please. Let us just go home now, yes?” he asked.

“Not
so fast,” Hogan said. He turned to Voelker, who was standing nearby. “Hey,
Strohm, who’s going to tell the kommandant that we didn’t get everything done?
Who is going to believe this pathetic excuse for a guard?” Schultz looked about
to protest when Hogan added, “Can’t even keep hold of his prisoners—you’re
lucky we weren’t killed, Schultz; you’d have an awful lot to explain. And we
haven’t even lined up the beautiful fraulein we promised for his birthday.”

“I
am sure your kommandant will trust his guard to tell him the truth.”

“You
don’t know Klink very well, Captain. He runs Stalag 13 with an iron fist. And
if he even suspects that the SS was out of line on this, you’ll have to start
packing your snowshoes, mister.” Le Beau just watched Hogan, totally at sea. “You may just have to front up yourself to
apologize in person.”

Voelker
nodded, understanding. “We will see, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps that is so.
Sergeant Schultz, this man is your responsibility again. I am sure you will
have the wherewithal to ensure he does not leave your sight again.”

“No,
Herr Kapitan. I mean, yes, Herr Kapitan,” Schultz fumbled. “Come, boys, raus,
raus, let us go back now.” And he moved off towards Kinch, Carter, and Newkirk,
who were further back in the lot. “Cockroach, come; we will get the others
moving.” Le Beau looked to Hogan, who shrugged, and then followed Schultz,
still trying to retrieve his basket.

Hogan
moved in closer to Voelker. “I can’t organize this completely on my own; we
operate as a unit, Voelker,” he said.

“Very
well; tell only those who must know. I will do what you say is necessary. But
you will honor your word, Colonel Hogan.”

“I
would have helped you out without the threats,” Hogan reminded him. “It’s we who can’t trust you,” He paused. “I’ll be in touch soon.” And he turned his back on
Voelker and concentrated on getting his men back to camp.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Carter’s
instincts about the best way to set the charges impressed Hogan. Here was a boy
who could often easily be mistaken as unintelligent, scatterbrained. And yet
Hogan knew that when it came to explosives and chemicals, he would trust
Carter’s expertise with his life. Now, Carter had whispered to Hogan as they
headed to Klink’s car that the vehicles had all been rigged, the timers primed
to start working when each engine was started. But, in an effort to minimize
any civilian loss of life, the timers had been set for thirty minutes, plenty
of time for the vehicles to be out of more heavily populated Hammelburg, and
well on their way back to Berlin. Hogan had smiled and patted Carter on the back.
“Good boy, Carter,” he praised him. Hogan had heard enough from the Luftwaffe
officers about civilian casualties; he knew he and his men didn’t want to be
associated with that type of warfare.

The
ride back to Stalag 13 passed much as the meeting had for Hogan: in a dream. He
was so busy processing the information that he had heard, and analyzing his
reaction to it, that he did not notice the time passing swiftly by with the
scenery. Hogan’s military background was chiding him for being so sensitive to
what was clearly military strategy. He tried to put it down to the coldness
with which the plans seem to have been made, but he knew somehow that he
couldn’t discount his recent devastating encounter with the Gestapo as having a
role to play. After all, he had certainly been in German company before, and in
German uniform. And it bothered him that this sometimes crucial aspect of his
operation could now be a source of distraction for him during a mission. He
felt he had been weak when he should have been strong today, and resolved not
to let it happen again.

And
then there was the matter of Voelker. It had been bad enough that he had backed
out of the mission when it was in progress, but to then make demands of Hogan
and his operation was unprofessional, and dangerous. Hogan felt he could
understand the man’s fears for his family; he had met enough terrified Germans
living under the tyranny of the Third Reich. But he could not accept the man’s
terms: do it, or someone dies. Where could a bomb be in the camp? Who would be
willing to set it off? And was Voelker telling the truth in the first place?
How many lives was Voelker willing to risk? Too many unanswered questions
dogged him. And he had not even begun to face the questions that would
inevitably come from his men, when they found out that their mission was
somehow not finished.

Lost
in these thoughts, he had to be nudged two or three times to answer questions
that were posed as part of the small talk of the men discussing what had
happened with Schultz while Hogan and Newkirk had been at the Landgasthaus. And
when they returned to camp, tired from their taxing excursion, Hogan simply
banged twice on the bunk bed that led to the radio downstairs in the barracks,
and turned to his men, who had planned on getting the lowdown on his talk with
Voelker themselves. “Kinch, tomorrow we’re going to have to put in a call to
the Underground, get an agent who’s willing to spend a night with Klink. I
know: it means giving up the comparative safety of a mission, but ask them to
make the sacrifice in the name of freedom.”

His
attempt at lightness was not lost on his men, who simply listened silently.
Something was obviously troubling him; he didn’t usually go to quite this much
trouble to keep them amused after a troublesome assignment. “Now get some sack
time; you’ve earned it. Le Beau, you’ll want to sleep under Baker’s bunk
tonight; I’m going to have to go in and out of the tunnel and there’s no point
in waking you up all the time.”

“But
Colonel, you will need to sleep, too. You should not—”

“Le
Beau, when did you step in as honorary mother?” Hogan snapped.

Le
Beau stopped, hurt. Hogan always lost a bit of his charm when under extreme
pressure. And Le Beau knew that it wasn’t his commander speaking, but his fear
and his frustration. “Oui, Colonel,” he said, subdued.

Hogan
sensed he had overstepped his boundary and put a hand on Le Beau’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Louis; but I have to get this information to London tonight. And the
faster it’s out of here, the more time the Allies have to thwart it.”

“Oui,
I understand, Colonel,” Le Beau said, satisfied that Hogan was handling the
strain at least passably. “But before I go to bed I will bring you something to
eat. And you will eat it, Colonel.”

“I’m
not hungry.”

“I
don’t care. You will eat it.”

“Okay,
Louis, okay.” He looked on his men with gratitude for their loyalty. “You
fellas did a great job today. There’s more to tell you but it will have to wait
until the information gets to London first. I’ll be sure to tell them how you
went above and beyond the call. Maybe they’ll set you up a car detailing shop
after the war.” He offered a weary grin, then stopped as an apparent
afterthought struck him. “Hey, Newkirk, any of those dissolving tablets left?”

“Yes,
gov’nor, I’m sure there are,” Newkirk answered quickly, heading towards his
footlocker. “I’ll fix one up for you right away.” Still hiding that headache, eh, gov’nor?

“Thanks.
I’ll be downstairs, gotta get the radio warmed up,” Hogan said, and he
disappeared down the ladder, four pairs of worried eyes following him.

The
men allowed Hogan the dignity of heading down on his own, then Kinch descended
a few minutes later. Wordlessly he handed Hogan the glass full of fizzy
medicine Newkirk had prepared. Hogan looked at him, beaten, then downed the
contents in one hit, grimacing at the taste. “Thanks,” he said. “Now get to
bed. It’s been a big day.”

“I
can pass the code through for you, Colonel,” he offered.

“I
was sending code when you were still a Private,” Hogan said, trying to sound
casual. “Thanks anyway, Kinch. But there’s so much stuff to send you’d be
rotated home by the time I’m through. I’ll be fine on my own.” Hogan
appreciated Kinch’s offer. And he wasn’t blind to the fact that the men were
trying to keep an eye on him as well. But he wanted to get this over with. And
he didn’t want them to see the shell-shocked look that was bound to cross his
face when he repeated everything he had heard at the Luftwaffe meeting, when
the information was released from its compartments, and back into his
consciousness. Or when he told Headquarters about the bomb.

Chapter Twelve

The Haystack

Early
in the morning, Kinch went back to the tunnel and found Colonel Hogan still at
the desk, head down on his arms, eyes closed. Shaking his head, Kinch quietly
picked up the headsets and, moving silently so as not to disturb his commander,
started to switch off the radio that was hot from being on all night.

Kinch
turned to see Hogan’s head rising from the table. He looked sick, Kinch
thought, like he hadn’t slept in months. Hogan rubbed his eyes and leaned back
in his chair. “Permission to speak freely, sir,” Kinch said.

Hogan
nodded. “Permission granted,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Sir,
you look awful—”

“Permission
revoked,” Hogan said wryly. “When I want the truth I’ll give it to you myself.”
He stood up to stretch his stiff limbs, pacing a small path.

“Begging
your pardon, Colonel, but the men are getting worried.”

“They’ll
have more to worry about than my looks in awhile, Kinch,” Hogan said grimly, in
a rare confidence. “There’s more to come.”

Kinch
nodded slowly, understanding now that Hogan’s uncharacteristic mood had not
been caused solely by the unexpected foray into the Luftwaffe meeting, or even
by his headache. Newkirk had filled them in on Voelker’s last-minute refusal to
infiltrate the session, and on Hogan’s condition at its conclusion. But to the
radioman, who usually accurately gauged their commanding officer’s reactions,
something had not added up. Now he knew why.

“I’ll
stay here and wait for London, Colonel. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

“No
thanks,” Hogan said.

“Colonel—ten
minutes. You’re dead on your feet. You can’t help us if you’re unconscious.”

Hogan
considered. “Okay. Ten minutes—and if anything comes from London I want to know
immediately.” Kinch nodded. “Immediately,”
Hogan repeated as he headed up the ladder.

“Yes,
Colonel,” said Kinch. Maybe I’ll lose
track of time.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan
crept past his lightly snoring men back to his quarters, his body aching for
sleep but his mind still racing. As he had relayed the information from the
Luftwaffe meeting, weariness had pressed down harder upon him, and he was
grateful for the chance to clear the images from his memory. Perhaps now he
could begin to forget them, and the irrational fear that had beset him, and
keep only his now more deeply steeled determination to help the Allies find a
swift and victorious end to this madness.

Hogan
punched his pillow in a vain attempt to get comfortable. The old and lumpy
mattress was doing very little to support him, and even less to relax him.
Where was that bomb? Where? How could
it have remained concealed in the camp for months? How could he be sure Voelker
was telling the truth? And how was he supposed to get children through the tunnels? And how dare Voelker put Hogan’s operation at risk for his own selfish reasons,
even for his family; didn’t he realize he was putting many more lives at risk?
And if he did, why didn’t he care?
The questions swirled in his brain, unrelenting. Hogan exhaled loudly and tried
to ignore the persistent grinding of his sore stomach, but he knew he was
fighting a losing battle: he hated questions he couldn’t answer, and he would
twist them and turn them around until he could make sense of them. If he could make sense of them.

Stop poking me, big brother.
Don’t you know that’s rude? Hogan twitched as he tried to get away from the insistent fingers
prodding his shoulder, then sat bolt upright as he discovered the sensation was
real, not part of his dream. He had been home, playing touch football with his
family… he was young, and carefree, not an intelligence operative, with so much
more at stake than the first slice of his mother’s fresh-baked pumpkin pie.
Kinch was beside him, rousing him from a sleep he didn’t realize he had had.
Hogan fought the unreasonable urge to dress the man down for being there—for
not being his brother. “What is it?” he asked, trying to disguise his
gruffness.

“Sorry,
Colonel. It’s London on the line.”

“’S’all
right, Kinch,” Hogan sighed, swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. “I
asked you to come get me. It’s too bad they didn’t give me my full ten
minutes.” He grabbed his jacket and headed out of the room. Kinch followed
silently. He didn’t dare tell Hogan that it had been over an hour since he had
convinced his commanding officer to leave the radio and get some sleep, and
that he had even managed to get him out of morning roll call.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

After
thirty minutes of nail biting by Hogan’s men, the senior POW officer came out
from under the barracks floor and reluctantly faced his subordinates.

“London
was thrilled with the information we had for them, fellas, and congratulates us
all on a job well done,” he began. Hogan’s men patted each other on the back
and commented loudly how it was about time Headquarters recognized the
difficult – and perilous—work that they carried out. “Thanks to us, they say
they can now pinpoint strategic weapons locations and Luftwaffe bases, as well
as having a clearer understanding of the mindset of the enemy to help in
counterstrategy.” The group nodded, impressed. “And, they report that several
explosions blocked the main roads about twenty minutes outside of Hammelburg
late last night, with apparently none of the people expected arriving back in
Berlin or even reporting in.” He nodded his acknowledgment to Carter. “No
civilians were reported injured or killed in the blasts.”

Carter
smiled shyly, pleased. Hogan had accepted that bit of news with great relief,
but somehow with no remorse about the loss of life that had been inflicted by order of his superiors. Defend yourself, echoed in his head, but Hogan drove it out. Had
those planning the destruction he had listened to in Hammelburg felt the need
to defend themselves?

Now
came the hard part. Hogan took in a breath. “There’s one more thing,” he said.
Kinch watched Hogan’s face struggling with emotions before he spoke. Now they
would find out what it was that was still bothering their commander. “There was
a bit of fallout from that meeting with Voelker yesterday.” The men expressed
concern, and a bit of anger. None of them had taken the news well that Voelker
had left them in the lurch, and then casually expected Hogan to step into the
breach for him. “Seems like he’s had ideas for awhile to get himself and his
family out of Germany, and he wants us to serve as his travel agent.”

Le
Beau was the first to speak up. “He wants us to help him, but he was not very forthcoming about helping us.”

“I
don’t see how we could help someone like Voelker, Colonel,” piped up Newkirk.
“I mean he’s not reliable, is ’e? Suppose he does something stupid at the last
minute to give us away?”

“Yeah,
well he’s got a pretty strong bargaining chip,” Hogan said to stop the chatter.
“He says he’s had someone bring a bomb into camp that will be detonated if he
and his family don’t show up here in a week to get smuggled out of the
country.”

The
outburst that followed made Hogan close his eyes and raise a hand to end it.
“Where is it, Colonel?” asked Carter over the din. “I’m sure I could diffuse
it.”

“I’d
tell you if I knew, Carter,” responded Hogan. “He won’t tell us where it is, or
who’s going to set it off. He’s made it so that we have to comply with his
demands or risk getting blown up. And that means getting Voelker, and his wife,
and his teenaged daughter and seven year old boy through the tunnel.”

“Children,
Colonel? We don’t take kids through here; they can’t be trusted to keep
secrets!”

“We’re
not going to have any choice. Trying to find a bomb in a place the size of
Stalag 13 is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Even if we knew what we
were looking for it would take us more than a week to find it. London has
ordered us to meet his demands and get them out.”

More
protests met Hogan’s ears. The loudest came from Newkirk: “What if he’s lying?”

“What
if he’s not?” Hogan retorted. “Are
you willing to take odds on that? I’m
not. What if there is a bomb and it
goes off in the tunnel? One of you fellas could get killed. Or what if Klink buys it? We get another commandant
who isn’t so charmingly inefficient and it’s the end of the operation for us.
Not to mention the firing squad.” The men shifted uncomfortably. “We have to
operate on the premise that he’s telling the truth.” Hogan sat down,
frustrated. “We don’t have any choice.”

“So
how are we going to handle children in the tunnel, Colonel?” Kinch asked.

“I’m
not sure yet,” answered Hogan. “But we’ll have to come up with something… and
fast.” He closed his eyes and squeezed his shoulder muscles. “I’ll have to go
have a think about it. Our first priority is to find that bomb.” He stood up.
“Newkirk, any of that draught left?”

“I’ll
get you some, Colonel,” Newkirk answered, going off to follow through.

“Kinch,
make sure you have someone lined up for Klink,” Hogan reminded him.

“Under
control, Colonel,” he answered.

“I’ll
be in my room, conniving,” Hogan announced, leaving the common area and heading
for his quarters.

And
that’s where he stayed, accepting the drink Newkirk brought him, though it was
having little effect on the headache that continued assaulting him. “Get some
sleep, sir,” Newkirk advised gently.

Hogan
just nodded and waved him out of the room. Newkirk was right; sleep was what
Hogan needed to clear his head. But it seemed as though the gods were
conspiring against him in that. And just when the others thought he was finally
settling down for a rest, the door to his room burst open. “I’ve got it,” he
announced. “I know how to get Klink to let us search for the bomb. Get on your
white gloves, boys; it’s inspection time.”

Chapter
Thirteen

The Inspection
Tour

“I’m
heading over to Klink’s office,” Hogan announced a short time later. “Kinch,
Newkirk, you know what to do.”

“Righto,
Colonel,” Newkirk confirmed.

“Louis,
Andrew, you wait for the signal.”

“Oui,
Colonel, we will be listening for it.”

“Okay,
here we go,” Hogan said, and he turned the collar of his jacket up against the
cold, fixed his crush cap on his head, and trotted across the compound. Kinch
headed straight down to the tunnel and rerouted the telephone line into Klink’s
office. Newkirk followed quickly. Le Beau took up his position next to the
coffee pot, now plugged in to bug Klink’s office, with Carter stationed at the
top of the ladder.

In
the outer office of the kommandant’s building, Hogan managed to enjoy an
engaging kiss with Klink’s secretary, Hilda, near the filing cabinet. He knew
he usually had to warm her up to get inside unexpectedly, but he also knew they
both took pleasure in the convincing. Pulling her soft form to himself, the
back of Hogan’s brain was telling him to get to the business at hand, while the
front of his brain was saying this was a necessary restoration of his strength
of will. It’ll do for an excuse, he
said to himself, renewing the kiss with vigor.

But
Hilda was obviously of two minds as well, and the part of her mind that was
saying Hogan was getting too much pleasure out of this was winning. She pulled
away from him long enough to whisper, “Colonel Hogan, what do you really want?”

“Isn’t
it obvious?” he asked, happy to forget Klink and any other male German for a
few more minutes. He nibbled at her neck, taking pleasure in her taste and her
smell.

“Yes,”
she said, all business. She neatened her clothes and went around the back of
her desk. “I’m afraid it is,” she sighed. “You have come to see the
Kommandant.”

Hogan
let his shoulders sag in defeat, and threw her a boyish grin. “Well that was
how it started out… but I’m sure I could be persuaded to do other things.”

“Not
today you can’t,” she said. “But you can see Colonel Klink. He is in there,
working on some reports.”

He
knocked on the door to Klink’s office and walked in without waiting for a
response. “Fraulein Hilda, I told you I did not wish to be—oh, Hogan,” Klink
realized, looking up. “I am very busy, Hogan. But I will speak with you.”

“Thanks,
Kommandant,” said Hogan, trying to sound sincere.

“Hogan,
I am very displeased about what happened in Hammelburg yesterday,” Klink said,
with a tight shaking of his thumb and index finger in the senior POW’s
direction.

“I
wasn’t very thrilled with it either, sir,” said Hogan. “After all, we went into
Hammelburg on a good deed, a mission of mercy, so to speak, and what happens
but we get pulled up by the goons—oh, beg your pardon, sir, the SS—and taken in
forquestioning. Now that can’t be good
for morale.”

“You
seem to have recovered, Colonel Hogan. Sergeant Kinchloe said you were still
sleeping this morning after the rather eventful day. I thought I would be
humane and compassionate, Hogan, and let you sleep in, considering you were in
Hammelburg doing something for me.”

“That
was very kind of you, sir.” Hogan made a mental note to have a word with Kinch
about taking matters into his own hands. “Well, sir, the reason I’m here is, my
men and I think that this Captain Strohm really pushed his luck, sir, and tried
to overthrow your authority. You should have heard him pushing Schultz
around—like he was the camp commandant, not you!”

“When
outside the camp Schultz is subject to the authority of other officers,” Klink
said dismissively.

“But,
sir, I didn’t think that some of the things he said were worthy of you. ‘Klink
runs a soft stalag.’ ‘Klink is too cowardly to make his guards work harder.’
‘Klink isn’t here to see me, so why should I acquiesce to his wishes?’ Oh, sir, Sergeant Schultz is too kind to tell you, but
this Strohm was completely out of line. He even made the men work on the cars
of other German officers in town instead of concentrating on yours. Oh, it was
shameful, Colonel. Shameful.”

Klink
had risen slowly from his desk as Hogan spouted these tales. How dare a lower
ranked officer override him? “Really?” he asked.

“Oh,
yes, sir,” Hogan declared. “I would have said something myself, sir, but of
course he didn’t want to hear anything from me. I would have demanded he come
here to camp in person and apologize for his behavior.”

“Apologize?”

“Oh,
yes, sir. After all, he shamed you in front of the prisoners. No
self-respecting officer should accept that from someone as trivial as Captain
Strohm.”

“Self-respecting
officer…”

“I’d
put in a call right now to Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg,” said Hogan,
picking up the phone.

“In
Hammelburg…” Klink was considering.

“And
ask to speak to his immediate superior,” added Hogan, dialing some numbers.

“His
superior…” contemplated Klink.

“And
tell him that Strohm had better show up within the week or all hell’s going to
break loose.”

“Within
the week?” Klink questioned.

“Hello,
Headquarters!” said Hogan, handing Klink the receiver.

“Hello
Headquarters,” repeated Klink.

Back
in Barracks Two, Le Beau had waved madly when Hogan indicated he was about to
make a call. “Now!” Carter called down the ladder. Kinch was waiting with the
headsets standing by. And as soon as Klink said, “Hello, Headquarters,” Newkirk
was there, German at the ready.

“Ja,
Gestapo Headquarters. Heil Hitler,” he said, raising a salute to Kinch, who
smiled and responded in kind.

Klink
turned to Hogan in horror. How had he gotten through to Headquarters?
“Hogannn,” he growled. Hogan just shrugged and crossed his arms casually. “Heil
Hitler,” Klink said, recovering. “This is Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of
LuftStalag 13.”

“Ja,
Colonel Plink, this is Colonel Miller. What can we do for you?” Newkirk asked
in his best German. Kinch smirked.

“Klink,
Colonel. It’s Klink. I am calling about your Kapitan Strohm. Apparently he had
occasion to meet up with my Sergeant of the Guard and some of my prisoners in
Hammelburg yesterday.”

“Strohm?
Strohm?” said Newkirk, trying to remember. “Ah yes, Blink. I know of the
Kapitan. A fine soldier.”

“Klink,
Colonel. I am unhappy with the reports I am receiving about the Kapitan’s
treatment of my prisoners, my Sergeant, and also of remarks made in my absence.
And I would like—” He looked at Hogan, who whispered “‘I demand!’” with an emphatic gesture to support it—“I demand that he come to Stalag 13 to
apologize for behavior unbecoming an officer.” He threw a questioning glance at
Hogan, who nodded silent approval.

“Unhappy,
ja?” Newkirk replied. “Well, Colonel Fink, this may be able to take place as
you wish. As it so happens there is a major inspection tour of the Stalags
being planned for next week. Oberfuhrer Becker is most anxious to
come to Stalag 13, as it has the reputation for being the strictest in Germany.
Of course you will have the place looking its very best for him when he comes.
The Oberfuhrer is a stickler for neatness, even in a prisoner of war camp.”
Newkirk let out a snort that he hoped would indicate a slight madness in the
Oberfuhrer. “I am sure that Strohm can accompany him. You will see him on
Wednesday.”

“An
inspection? On Wednesday? That’s only…” Hogan held up five fingers. “…five days
from now. Colonel, this camp is very busy. We cannot spend our days and nights
cleaning every little corner…”

“No?
Shall I tell the Oberfuhrer he is not welcome, Colonel Zinc?”

“No,
no of course not, Colonel,” Klink said. “What I mean to say is that we shall
get to work right away making sure all is in order for the Oberfuhrer’s visit.
As long as Strohm is with him.”

“As
it shall be, Colonel Slink. Heil Hitler.” And Newkirk pulled a finger across
his neck for Kinch to cut the connection, grinning from ear to ear.

“You
handled that brilliantly, sir,” praised Hogan, hanging up. “Shall I tell the
men to get out their dress prison uniforms for the inspection?” Klink was still
dumbfounded. “Sir?” he prompted again.

“Hogan,
Oberfuhrer Becker is coming here in five days. And he has a neatness fetish
that would make my grandmother look like a filthy waif—and she made us wash
five times before we sat down to dinner. Hogan, what are we going to do?”

“Well
I’m sure the men would be willing to help clean the place up, Colonel. After
all, it’s our prison camp, too, and we want to be proud of it when visitors
come.”

“You
would do that, even after what happened yesterday?”

“Is
Strohm coming, too?” asked Hogan.

“Yes,
he will be coming with the Oberfurher’s party.”

“Well,
then, all the more reason—we don’t want him to think he’s gotten the better of us, sir. Not the men from Stalag 13. It
will be my personal pleasure to show him just what kind of men he’s dealing
with.” And that’s the truth.

“Very
well, then, Hogan. Set up work details and your men can begin cleaning
immediately. And quickly!” Klink added. “We only have five days.”

“Believe
me, Kommandant, I am fully aware of the time limit.” And with a brief salute,
he left the office.

Chapter
Fourteen

Who’s Got the
Bomb?

Carter
and Newkirk took their brooms and very casually swept a wide arc to the
remotest corners of the supply hut. “See anything?” Newkirk whispered.

“Yeah,
lots of things, but I don’t know which one of ’em might be a bomb,” Carter
answered, looking over the seemingly endless rows of boxes, sacks, and barrels
filling the overcrowded room.

“And
I thought prisoner of war camps were under-supplied,” quipped Newkirk. He
carefully looked over toward the guard watching them from the doorway. “We’re
going to be here all bloody night, and we don’t even know what we’re looking
for. Or what sets it off.”

“Anything
we do could blow this place to Kingdom Come—and us with it!” Carter said.

“Thanks
for that comforting reminder, Carter,” Newkirk said sarcastically. “Let’s start
from this end and work our way back through the room. At least we can see if
any of the supplies look like they’ve been tampered with.” He pulled a dust
cloth out of the bucket he and Carter had dragged along with them and started
running it over boxes nearest him. “C’mon, Carter,” he said loudly, so the
guard could hear. “When the inspector comes we have to make sure he doesn’t
think the prisoners don’t actually get
any of these marvelous things,” he said dryly, eyeing the medical supplies and
rations with some envy. He told himself secretly to come back when there was a
break between missions and load up for the prisoners’ personal storehouse.

Carter
followed Newkirk’s lead, and examined everything as they moved up and down the
aisles. But how did they find something when they didn’t know what it looked
like?

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“This
kitchen is disgusting!” complained Le Beau. “How do you expect to impress
anyone when you cannot see your face in the stainless steel? You would be lucky
not to get food poisoning!” The German in charge of the kitchen cringed,
knowing that Le Beau was regarded as a culinary expert by many in the camp. “I
will pull this building apart board by board to make it right.”

“Jawohl,
I will get started on—”

“No! You will not touch it! You cannot be
trusted. You will get out of my sight.” He picked up a bowl of what looked like
sauerkraut and shoved it at the German. “And you will take this reject from the
kitchen from Hell with you. Before it walks out of here under its own power.”

Thus
left to his own devices, Le Beau began a careful search of the kitchen and the
mess hall.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“Are
you sure your men can handle this section on your own, Schultz?” asked Kinch.
Looking over the guard house and towards the tower, Kinch was meeting with
resistance from the portly Sergeant about putting the cloths over this part of
the camp, saying it was a matter of pride for the men that it be kept clean at
all times. Kinch wondered what “all times” meant, as he thought he would have
some serious work to do to even bring this place up to below par, and cleaning
was not quite what he had in mind when he asked about cleaning!

“Ja,
Sergeant Kinchloe, we will see to it ourselves,” insisted Schultz.

“Okay,
Schultz,” said Kinch. Then, thinking on his feet, he said, “But I’d sure hate
to be you if this Oberfuhrer finds something to be unhappy about. After all,
you’re the Sergeant of the Guards….”

“Ja,
I am!” he said proudly. Then his expression changed to one of concern. “What do
you think he would do?” he asked.

“I
wouldn’t know, Schultz. But if you’re the one in charge of the guards, and the
guards displease him, well, it would be your responsibility, wouldn’t it?”

“Auf meinem Leben!” fretted Schultz.
“Every man should take responsibility for his own area, yes?”

“Well
in theory, Schultz. But when something goes wrong in camp, it’s ultimately the
Kommandant’s fault, isn’t it? Well, the same would apply to yourself with your
guards.”

Schultz
moved away from the door he had been blocking. “You may do what you need to
do.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan
came out from his hiding spot when he saw the car pull up on the road and
Voelker, in German uniform and holding a rifle, disembark. Still not happy to
trust him, Hogan held his Luger close to his body, and advanced slowly.

“You
are well, Colonel Hogan?”

“Wonderful,”
Hogan answered curtly. “We’re ready for you. You’ll come into camp on
Wednesday, accompanied by some other agents posing as a General and his
inspection group. Klink has demanded Strohm come to camp to apologize for his
arrogance in Hammelburg and for undermining his authority. You can disappear
while you’re there, we’ll make it so Klink will never notice. Your family will
come through the tunnel the same night, and we’ll smuggle you out in the dog
trucks.”

“We
were planning to come into camp together, Colonel Hogan. My family does not
wish to be separated.”

Hogan
was starting to lose grip on his already weak patience with this man. “I’m not
your personal travel agent, Voelker. If you want to get out, you have to trust
me on how to do it. There’s at least one thing I know better than you. And
another thing, your son’s going to come in blindfolded and he’s going out the
same way. We can’t take any chances on a child spilling the operation by
accident. And the less he knows, the safer everyone is.” In case you get caught, he finished to himself grimly. They won’t be able to use a child to get to
his parents, not if I have any say in it.

“Colonel,
that cannot be. My son, Erich, he is terrified of the darkness. He cannot be
out at night, and blindfolded; he
will be mad with fear.”

“Now
look, Voelker, you gave us your conditions and I’m meeting them. We don’t have
a lot of choices about how and when. He comes in blindfolded or not at all.
You’ll just have to find a way to keep him calm.” Hogan felt his grip on his
pistol tightening. Voelker was trying to get the upper hand again. When would
this guy give up?

“I
cannot guarantee his silence during a nighttime journey, Colonel Hogan. He is a
child. He is frightened. What would you have me do?” There was no regret in his
voice, simply continuing defiance, steadfastness.

Hogan
tapped his foot, impatient with himself, but trying to think. He admired the
man’s devotion to his family, but he seemed to forget there was a war on!
Still, Hogan could not help thinking of a young boy, frightened and leaving
everything he knew, and he wanted to make it easier… if there was such a thing.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Your inspection entourage is scheduled to come
through the gates at noon precisely. While the guards are there and their
attention is diverted, one of my men will meet your family at the entrance to
the emergency tunnel. Your contact in town will get them there. But your son
will be blindfolded for the trip, and he’ll stay that way till he’s safely in
the tunnel and there’s no way for him to figure out how he got there. Clear?”

“Now
we’ve kept our part of the bargain, Voelker; you keep yours: cough up the
bomb,” Hogan said.

“Not
yet, Colonel Hogan. We must be inside first. All of us.”

“You’re
making this mission a lot riskier for my men, Voelker. I’m sure even you can
appreciate that conducting operations during the day leaves us a lot more open
to being noticed…and shot. The least you could do is show your hand.”

“I
am sorry, Colonel. Not until we are all in camp.”

Hogan
found it hard to resist the urge to throttle Voelker. Not only because of the
man’s stubbornness, but because his continued defiance was in essence
questioning the integrity of Hogan and his men. Still, Hogan kept the worst of
his thoughts to himself, and concentrated on the mission at hand. If he
couldn’t get Voelker to tip his hand, he would have to make sure he did so when
the time came. And God help them both if Voelker tried to hold back then. “Tell
your family they’ll have to be ready to follow orders once they are with me and
my men. And that includes you,” Hogan
said gruffly. “Once you’re at Stalag 13 you’re under my command. Anything but
strict adherence to the rules could have disastrous results…for all of us.”

“Understood,
Colonel. We will do as you say.”

“I
hope the rest of your family isn’t quite as stubborn as you,” Hogan said. And,
purposefully lowering his pistol, Hogan headed back into the woods.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“Nothing,
Colonel. Not a thing out of place, and nothing that looks remotely suspicious,”
Kinch reported.

“Same
goes for me, Colonel. Although I was concerned about some of the food I found
in the kitchen,” added Le Beau. “But I decided that was not a bomb; just
poison.”

“What
about you fellas?” asked Hogan, turning to Carter and Newkirk. The group had
met back in Barracks Two just before evening roll call, to compare notes.

“Everything
seemed okay, Colonel,” said Newkirk. “But there’s so much bleedin’ stuff in
there it’s hard to tell.”

“We
went through everything, sir. It’s just impossible to find something when you
don’t have any idea what you’re looking for,” Carter said.

“How
did you go, Colonel?” asked Kinch.

“Change
of plans,” Hogan said, avoiding a direct answer. “We’ll bring his family in
when the inspection group comes through the front gates.”

“But
Colonel, that’s broad daylight!” protested Le Beau.

“You’re
very observant, Le Beau,” Hogan said. “That’s why you’ll be meeting them at the
tunnel entrance. We’ll need a sharp-witted person to make sure things go right
while the rest of us make sure the Germans are kept busy. The boy will be
coming wearing a blindfold; make sure it’s taken off as soon as he’s
downstairs.”

“Oui,
Colonel.”

“Now,”
mused Hogan, rubbing his chin, “we’ve got to find that bomb. Someone has to
know something. Kinch, did the guards have anything unusual to say while you
were in their hut?”

“No,
Colonel, just scuttlebutt about officers who have visited the camp. I’m not
sure whose side the guards think those officers are on, the way they talk about
them,” Kinch grinned.

“That’s
it!” Hogan said suddenly. “Kinch, you’re a genius.” Hogan stood up and headed
for the door.

“What
did I say?” Kinch asked the others, as Hogan swept out with fresh resolve.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“The
men will keep working tomorrow, Schultz. We aren’t at all satisfied yet with
the state of this camp.”

Hogan
had made a bee-line for Schultz, who was doing his shift slowly this evening,
and occasionally stopping to stifle a yawn. “But Colonel Hogan, I don’t think
even the Oberfuhrer would be looking into some of the spots the prisoners are
cleaning. Why would he remove drawers from desks to study them?” he asked,
remembering how Kinch had scolded him when he found dust bunnies under the
lowest drawer.

“Oh,
now, Schultz, the men take pride in their work. They don’t want the camp to be
clean just on the surface; they want it to be truly sparkling, deep down where
it counts.” Sometimes Hogan wondered how he could keep this banter up so often.
It could get tiring to pretend that your men were so easily bendable, when
inside he knew they were anything but submissive, timid creatures. “We haven’t
done the recreation hall, or the officers’ barracks yet. We’ll have to get to
them first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t
bother with the Officers’ Barracks,” advised Schultz. “It has not been used in
two months. No one goes in there.”

“Well,
we like to be thorough, Schultz. After all, where would an officer like to see
better treated than officers’ quarters?” Hogan laughed. “We’re all alike, you
know. Like to see our nests feathered nicely.”

Schultz
considered this, as visions of Hogan’s “officer’s quarters” in Barracks Two
flashed through his mind. Hardly “feathered” the way any man of rank deserved.
“Ja, I understand, Colonel Hogan,” he said.

Walking
beside Schultz as the guard continued his rounds, Hogan casually asked, “Gee,
Schultz, it has been awhile since
we’ve had any visitors. Who was the last one to stay here?”

Oh,”
Schultz thought, “that would be… General Fleischer.”

“Oh
that’s right,” Hogan agreed heartily. “What did he come here for again? To
discuss a promotion with the Kommandant?”

Schultz
chuckled. “No one comes here to discuss that,” he muttered conspiratorially. As
though his loyalty were being questioned, though, Schultz added, “But he did
come with something nice for the Kommandant.”

“Nice?”
Hogan asked, his ears perking up.

“Yes.
Very nice. He told me that the
Kommandant’s old gymnasium classmates were planning to surprise him on the
anniversary of a very special school event, and that he hoped to bring it to
the Kommandant himself.”

“So
what was it?” Hogan asked, alert.

“I
do not know, Colonel Hogan. General Fleischer was called away from the camp
urgently. He has left me the package with instructions to give it to Colonel
Klink on his command.”

Hogan
was suddenly wired. “Where is that package now?” Schultz paused to think.
“Schultz, who has it?” he asked impatiently, anxious.

“That
would be telling,” Schultz said. “I
promised I would not say. I gave my word that I would deliver it to the
Kommandant myself, and that I would tell the General the look on his face when
he saw what was inside it.”

“Just
bursting with excitement, I’ll bet,”
Hogan mused angrily, picturing the package exploding in Klink’s face when it
was opened, taking out both him and Schultz in one hit. “Schultz, has the
General contacted you yet about delivering this surprise?”

“As
a matter of fact, he contacted me this afternoon after the Kommandant got the
prisoners started on the detailing. He asked me to make sure it was safe and
said that it was going to be delivered soon.”

Hogan
was nearly beside himself. “Gee, Schultz, I’d love to see the package,” he
said, cursing himself for not sounding as calm as he hoped. He flashed a
winning smile at the guard. “C’mon,” he said, as though plotting secretly with
Schultz, “it’s just me—no one else would have to see.”

“No,
Colonel Hogan, I promised!”

“Oh
well,” Hogan said, trying to sound hurt. “Now I know why you didn’t want
Newkirk and Carter in the supply hut.” He shot a quick look over his shoulder to
see if he was getting anywhere with this, then smiled to himself when Schultz
began to take the bait. “You’ve been keeping a big secret in there all
alone—want to get all this glory for yourself!”

“No,
Colonel Hogan, that is not where it is,” protested Schultz.

“Or
why the mess Sergeant was upset about Le Beau going through the kitchen.”

“No, Colonel Hogan, the parcel is not there!”

“Or
why you didn’t like Kinch going into your guard house cupboards.”

This is where Hogan suspected the parcel was
at the start of this questioning, but knew he had to lead Schultz up to it. He
was rewarded when Schultz said, “Please,
Colonel Hogan, do not tell the others about it. I promised I would tell no one.”

“Don’t
worry, Schultz,” said Hogan, satisfied. “Your secret will be safe with me.” And so will you and Klink. I hope.

Chapter
Fifteen

Pass the
Parcel

“Okay,
so it’s a pretty sure bet that Fleischer brought in the bomb,” Hogan relayed to
his men a short time later. “Either that or the friend Voelker was talking
about gave it to him to give to Schultz. Whatever way he did it, we’re not
likely to see Fleischer again, and we’ve got big trouble if Schultz takes that
parcel to Klink.”

“It
seems like the plan is to get rid of Klink and Schultz completely,” Kinch
surmised. “And with them gone…” Kinch’s voice trailed off.

“The
operation is gone,” finished Hogan. “If a bomb goes off in this compound you
can bet your bottom dollar Berlin’s not going to send another Laurel and Hardy
to run things here.”

“It’d
be bye-bye Kraut patsies… hello Gestapo,” said Newkirk.

Hogan
nodded. Aside from the obvious repercussions on their operations, he couldn’t
help but have a small, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when his mind
considered what would become of Klink and Schultz personally if he and his men
couldn’t intercept the bomb. True, in the end they were the enemy, and true, he
would follow orders if push came to shove. But if it weren’t for Schultz
turning his head the other way so often, Hogan truly believed that their
operation wouldn’t have survived as long as it had. And if Klink had not been,
deep down, a compassionate man stuck in a role he did not relish, Hogan and his
men could easily have suffered more physically —and mentally—in this camp than
they had. Hogan found that he wanted to stop this disaster for Klink and
Schultz’s sakes, as well as for the sake of himself and his men, a thought that
took his conscience by surprise.

“So
what are we looking for, Colonel?” asked Kinch.

“Ah,
there’s the rub,” Hogan quoted. “We know where…but we still don’t know what.
We’re going to have to investigate first. And we have precious little time to
do it. Kinch, can you get back into those quarters?”

“I
think so, Colonel.”

“Take
Carter with you. You’re going to have to play sniffer dog, Carter. Can you do
that?”

“I’m
part bloodhound, Colonel.”

“Yeah,
and you keep passin’ on your fleas,” teased Newkirk, giving him a playful
shove.

Hogan
allowed himself to enjoy the banter and gave a crooked smile before continuing.
“See if you can find anything that could pass as a bomb. We’re going to have to
replace it, and quick. But don’t try to diffuse it, just bring it back here. We
don’t know what sets it off and I don’t want any dead heroes.” He was trying to
be lighthearted but wasn’t succeeding. His concern was real. He trusted his men
to try to do the right thing. But he also knew they were walking into danger,
and it gnawed at him that he couldn’t take the risk away from them. As a leader
he had to knowingly send his men into jeopardy, and they had never shirked
their duty. But he always felt like a father pushing his sons in front of
moving vehicles, and knew that if something happened to any of them, the
sorrow, and the guilt, would be unbearable.

“We’ll
be fine, Colonel,” Kinch said, understanding. “We’ll bring it here. It must be
able to be handled, or Fleischer wouldn’t have been able to give it to Schultz.
We’ll figure out how to get rid of it when we know what we’re dealing with.”

“No,”
Hogan said. “Let’s give it a break. I told Schultz we’d be at him tomorrow, and
I want you fellas to have plenty of light to work with. This is no time to use
half-measures. We’ll get you in there first thing in the morning.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Kinch
and Carter barged into the guard’s quarters, buckets, mops and cloths banging
and crashing, and got straight to work as they listened to Hogan smooth-talk
Schultz outside. Kinch shook his head in amazement as he listened to the words
drifting towards them. He didn’t know how Hogan kept up this constant patter;
it was certainly a gift that not all men had. A saying he had heard came back
to Kinch: If you tell the truth you don’t
have to remember anything. And the senior POW had to regularly come up with
and support stories with no truth in them whatsoever; if he couldn’t remember
it all, there were lives, lots of them, at stake. Occasionally, but not often,
Kinch had seen the pressure of this responsibility visibly wear on Hogan. The
sign was in his eyes, when they suddenly lost their spark; when he seemed to be
staring at nothing for a minute at a time; when he suddenly made a biting
comment from left field, then wouldn’t look at his men for shame of it, and
made it up to them by making sure they
got time off. But he wouldn’t let on: the confidence of the men under his
command was directly linked to his own, as was often the case in tight-knit
groups, so he tried never to let them see his own cool demeanor falter. Not just any man could be a Papa Bear,
Kinch pondered, digging through the closet loaded with heavy coats and long
pants and assorted articles of clothing. Thank
God for the one we’ve got.

“Hey,
Kinch, look at this.” Carter pushed some long underwear aside in a large drawer
to reveal a brown-papered parcel tied with string.

Kinch
stared at the package that he had never seen yesterday, not having been given
access to what Schultz had told him was “too personal” a place to go. He nodded
his agreement. “I think we’ve got it.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“So
what do we do with it?” Newkirk
asked.

The
men in Barracks Two were staring at the parcel Kinch and Carter brought back
from the guards’ station. The foot-by-foot, square, brown problem sat on the
table in front of them, daring them to act. Hogan looked to his demolitions
expert, the man he trusted above all in matters pertaining to explosives of any
kind. “Carter?”

Carter
screwed his face up, thinking. “Well it might be on a timer, but that’s not
likely,” he said. “If it was, Klink might have time to get rid of it before it
goes off.”

“Okay,”
understood Hogan. “So it’s pressure-sensitive. It’s tied down in there and the
first person to break that string shakes hands with Saint Peter.”

“Uh-huh,”
confirmed Carter.

“So
how do we get rid of it?” asked Kinch.

Hogan
had one leg up on the bench, and now he leaned on it, rubbing his face as he
considered. “I could try to diffuse it, Colonel,” Carter offered.

“Not
a chance, Andrew,” Hogan said, not missing a beat. “We’re not taking any
chances. That thing is an unknown, and I’m not going to have you blowing
yourself up over it.”

“We
could always give it back to Voelker when he shows up here,” Newkirk said,
cross that the man had left them in such a position. “It’s his bloody gift
anyway, isn’t it?”

“We
could,” Hogan mused. “But I’d like to
put it to better use than that.”

“Why
don’t we use it to blow up that new railroad bridge we have been talking about
hitting?” suggested Le Beau.

“Not
a bad idea, Louis,” nodded Hogan. “But it’s not a timer-set or impact
explosive.” He turned to Carter. “Andrew, how would a bomb like this handle
being couriered?”

Carter
shrugged. “Gee, Colonel, I don’t know,” he said. “But if it’s been made
properly it can’t be too sensitive or
it would blow the minute someone looked at it cross-eyed. It made it this far,
so it must be fairly sturdy. After all, Schultz didn’t know what’s in it, and
he’s no light touch.”

Hogan
looked around at his men. “What do you say we send a little gift to our friends
at Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg?” Hogan smiled as he saw his men warm to
the idea.

“That
sounds like a great idea,” Le Beau said over the din. “We can say it is from
Berlin.”

“Whatever
we say, we can’t connect it with Stalag 13 in any way,” Hogan agreed.“Kinch, why don’t we find out what delivery
trucks we’ve got going out in the next day or two, and give our friends in
Hammelburg a bang-up gift. In the meanwhile, we’ll leave this little bundle at
the far end of tunnel four. Make sure it stays sealed off to traffic, just in
case. Newkirk, Le Beau, let’s come up with a different gift for the Kommandant.
But make sure it looks just like this one—on the outside, only. We’ll sneak it
back into the guards’ quarters tonight.”

“Yes,
Colonel,” the men agreed, and took off to do their jobs.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“Colonel
Hogan, I called you in here because I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to
accept your men’s kind plans to go into Hammelburg to meet that fraulein
tonight.”

“Oh,
but Colonel--!” protested Hogan. Shortly after the meeting in the barracks,
Hogan had been summoned to Klink’s office. And after the activity of the last
twenty-four hours, Hogan had nearly forgotten the set-up to the whole
operation: getting Klink to think the men wanted to give him a birthday
surprise.

“No,
Hogan, no—” waving Hogan’s protest away and going back around his desk.

“Oh,
but Colonel, the men have really been looking forward to this!” Hogan said.
“They said they really wanted to thank you for being such a compassionate—yet
hard-working—Kommandant. And now you’re going to throw it back in their faces!”

“I’m
sorry, Colonel Hogan, that is the way it is in wartime.” Klink sat down.
“Sometimes men have to make sacrifices for the good of all. And with this
inspection tour coming up I will have to be here in the camp at all times to
make sure everything is in order for the Oberfuhrer’s visit on Wednesday.”

Hogan
nodded resignedly. “Okay, Kommandant. But Mariel will be very disappointed.”

“Mariel?”
Klink said longingly.

“Yes,
sir. A lovely young thing, just moved into the area. But don’t worry, sir.
She’ll understand. She’s a war widow, you know; she understands how these
things happen.” Hogan saluted in his usual carefree manner and headed back out
the door. He had more pressing matters to attend to. And he could tell Mariel
that she wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy the company of a pompous German
officer this evening. Too bad he didn’t have time to take Klink’s place….

Chapter
Sixteen

Deceptions

Wednesday
morning’s roll call was a hurried and tense affair, thanks to Klink’s
well-known anxiety in the face of any kind of inspection, or any encounter with
the Gestapo. This suited Hogan down to the ground, as he had too much to do to
stand in the cold, trying to divert Klink’s attention from his own edginess
over the work at hand.As soon as they
were dismissed, Hogan and his men made a bee line for the barracks, to gather
around the table for a final review of the day’s plans.

“Okay,
this is it. Voelker and the ‘Oberfuhrer’ are scheduled to arrive at noon
precisely. Le Beau, at that time you’re going to be at the entrance to the
emergency tunnel, where Voelker’s wife and kids are going to come down.
Remember the boy will be blindfolded. When you’re fully inside the tunnel, and
you know he can’t figure out how he got here, take the blindfold off, pronto.
Otherwise we’re going to have trouble of a different sort. Keep them down
there, make sure they have everything they need to be comfortable.”

“Oui,
Colonel.”

“Carter,
Newkirk, you two are going to create a diversion near the gates as the party
comes in. This will throw Klink off enough to draw the guards’ attention to
you, instead of to what’s happening outside the wire, just in case one of the
guards is actually doing his job and scouring the perimeter.”

“Right,
Colonel,” they answered.

“Kinch,
as soon as they’re in here, contact the Underground and tell them we’ll be
ready for the dog truck. Then coordinate with our contacts for the pickup to
get them out of Germany. The plans are all made; we just need to make sure
we’re on time.”

Kinch
nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I’ll
get Voelker myself.” Hogan’s men watched him carefully. Hogan knew what they
were thinking. The thought of giving Voelker a dressing down for putting the
operation in such jeopardy had indeed crossed his mind. But he had already
dismissed the idea as impractical, fruitless, and in some ways, heartless. His
only intention was to get the man out as soon as possible, and let him live
with his own conscience. “Once he’s done apologizing to Klink, I’ll make sure
he gets to take an inspection tour of the barracks…without Klink in tow.” The
men nodded understanding. “And now… all we can do is wait.”

Waiting
was the hardest part for most of them. The days since Sunday’s discovery had
been filled with planning, calls to and from the Underground and London,
meetings and operational strategy sessions. A section of the emergency tunnel
had been made into a makeshift sitting room for the Voelkers, as they would
have to wait several hours at least to slip back out of camp. Hogan had pulled
Le Beau aside quietly and asked him to pay close attention to the young boy,
Erich, to make sure he was kept in lighted areas, and kept away from any
conversation that might frighten him. The best way to keep a child of his age
calm was to keep him occupied, so Hogan also had the men construct a couple of
simple wooden games for the lad to play with, so his mind would not be on all
that was happening around him.

Hogan
had ordered his men to catch up on their lost sleep in the interim, but found
it eluded him personally. Every now and then he would doze off, only to find
himself still trying to answer the question that had been posed so many times: How do you defend yourself? He still had
no clear answer, and woke up from tossing and turning no more rested than he
had been when he shut his eyes.

Days
of this were beginning to take their toll on his outlook. So when the time came
for waiting, Hogan found himself taking to his bunk instead of pacing as usual
around the barracks, engaging only in more unsettled sleep. As noon approached
he got up, rubbed his face and eyes, splashed himself with cold water, and made
sure his uniform was presentable to the “visitors”. He made sure the men were
in place, sent Le Beau out through the tunnel, and went outside to set things
in motion.

Just
on midday, the front gates to the camp opened wide and an impressive black car
bearing Nazi flags came through. Hogan pulled his back away from the barracks
wall to get a better view of the proceedings, and nodded once to Newkirk and
Carter, who started tossing a ball back and forth casually in the middle of the
compound.

The
car pulled up near Colonel Kink’s office and a door opened, revealing Voelker
dressed in his officer’s uniform. He got out and opened the rear door to the
car, where a man dressed in the clothing of a Nazi Oberfuhrer stepped out and
took a surveying look around him at the camp. Hogan slowly, casually, followed
as they headed to Klink’s office.

Klink
came out of his office, coat tails flapping, as the visitors came started up
the stairs. Hogan shook his head in amusement as he watched Klink nearly knock
them back down, then apologize profusely as he led them back inside to his
office. Hogan decided to spend a few minutes with Hilda before barging in on
the meeting. Let’s get things warmed up a
little, he decided. Then I’ll crash
the party.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

“This way. Come, you must hurry, this way.”

Le
Beau took the trembling woman by the arm to lead her to the entrance to the
emergency tunnel. She, in turn, was tightly gripping a young boy, who was
whimpering as he stumbled in the underbrush. “Anna, take your brother’s other
arm,” she ordered shortly. A teenaged girl obeyed the woman immediately,
keeping her eyes averted from Le Beau. Une
belle fille, he noticed with a tinge of sadness. Trop jeune.

“It
will be all right, Erich,” Anna said. “We are nearly there.”

Le
Beau took the heavy backpack that the woman had carried all the way to the
meeting place. “Madame Voelker, you cannot carry this. I will take it.”

“You
are kind, sir,” she said, relinquishing her bundle.

“It
is not far from here,” Le Beau told her. “But we must get out of sight as
quickly as possible.” A short distance to go, but Le Beau was feeling very
vulnerable out in the daylight. He hoped Newkirk and Carter were putting on a
good show.

“Hogan.
Yes I believe you are the reason the
Kapitan has accompanied me on my inspection today,” Becker said, making
unmistakable eye contact with Hogan, who merely raised an eyebrow. “Something
about an interrogation in Hammelburg.”

Klink
laughed nervously as he detected annoyance in the Oberfuhrer’s tone. “Well we
don’t have to worry about that now,” he said, trying to keep the atmosphere
light. “We have an inspection tour to conduct! And I think you will find,
Oberfuhrer—”

“Now,
hang on a minute, Kommandant!” Hogan said, raising his hand. “Now this Captain
Strohm was way out of line when I was in Hammelburg, not only with me but with what he was saying about you! And I think it only fitting that he
humble himself before you, sir, as a gesture of repentance for his arrogance.”
Hogan looked from Klink to the others and back. “After all, when a man’s not
there to defend himself against some pretty insubordinate cracks from the likes
of Strohm… well, as an officer and a gentleman I was offended.”

“You
often take offence at matters that are none of your affair, Colonel Hogan?”
asked Becker.

“Begging
your pardon, General, but Captain Strohm here was pretty rough on me. And on
Colonel Klink’s command. A command under which I am proud to be a prisoner of
war. And when he insults the Kommandant, he insults me and my men.” Oh, brother! Hogan
rolled his eyes before he could stop himself and hoped Klink hadn’t noticed.

“A
commendable attitude for a prisoner to have. Colonel Klink, you seem to have
gained the respect of your charges. This is the sign of a fine officer.” Becker
turned to the man beside him. “Kapitan, it seems you would do well to pay your
proper respects to Colonel Klink. And to Colonel Hogan as well.”

Now this’ll be worth the
price of admission alone, Hogan thought, eyeing Voelker.

“Very
well, Herr Oberfuhrer,” began Voelker. Was he glaring at Hogan for real? Or was
he just showing again what an extraordinary actor he was?

Hogan
never got to find out, because it was then that all hell broke loose outside.
Shouting, running, dogs barking: Carter
and Newkirk, Hogan thought. Right on
cue. More screaming. And then the door to the office burst open and
Sergeant Schultz came in, breathless and upset. “Herr Kommandant, the men are
fighting!” he said.

Hogan
and the others followed. Sure enough, a swarm of about two dozen men were
shouting and cheering, crowding in around a skirmish. There were so many people
jostling for a view and picking smaller fights that the people at the core of
the riot weren’t even visible. Two of the dogs had been released and were
barking incessantly. Several guards had run from the outer perimeter of the
camp, rifles at the ready. But they were simply watching, boys themselves
watching boys fight. Hogan allowed himself a thin smile before stepping into
the fray. “Awright, fellas, knock it off! Break it up!” he shouted, pulling two
men off each other and nearly getting decked in the process. “Knock it off!” He
pushed his way through the flying punches and wrestling bodies until he got to
the centre: Carter and Newkirk. “Cut it out, you foul balls!” he ordered,
tearing them apart. The prisoners started to settle. “This has gone far enough.
Colonel Klink has an important visitor today, and you’re not making a very good
impression on him!”

Hogan
stepped back, straightening his own jacket and resettling his cap, then turned
to Klink, who looked like he had gotten the business end of a few fists as
well. He picked the Kommandant’s monocle out of the dirt and handed it back to
him. Klink practically snatched it away. “Hogannn,” he growled again, shaking
his grimy monocle at him. “The men responsible for this display will be
severely punished!”

Hogan
turned to quite obviously bring the Oberfurher’s attention to the situation.
Klink followed Hogan’s eyes and immediately put on a slippery smile. “Of
course, sometimes men just have to release some pressure.” He laughed as the
stern face of the Oberfuhrer relaxed. “Ten days in the cooler for these two,”
Klink said with a frown, pointing to Carter and Newkirk, who were now brushing
each other off and shaking hands in reconciliation.

“But
Colonel, it’s Carter and Newkirk who were going to help you take the visitors
on their tour of this fine camp! After all, we’re the ones who help keep this
place in the tip-top condition you see before you,” Hogan said.

“Is
this true, Colonel Klink?” asked Becker.

“Well,
the men do take a certain pride in the condition of Stalag 13. It is one of the
many reasons that our escape record is spotless here, Herr Oberfuhrer,” Klink
grovelled.

“Then
I should like the men responsible for the camp’s presentation to be the ones
who show me around,” Becker replied. Hogan felt a smile creeping onto his lips.
Nice touch.

Chapter
Seventeen

All In The
Family

“This way, madame, mademoiselle,” Le Beau guided the girl.
When they had gotten near the hollowed-out stump, Le Beau had left his charges
in the nearby brush, and went ahead on his own to make sure the Colonel’s plans
had been successful. When he was confident that they were not going to be
detected, he brought them out and started handing them down the opening to
Kinch, who was waiting below.

“Mein
Gotte!” exclaimed Mrs Voelker, as she looked through the hole to the network
beneath her.

Le
Beau handed her bundle down, then Kinch took her hand to help her down the
ladder. Then Le Beau himself walked Erich to the ladder, lifted him up gently,
and carried him to Kinch. Kinch took the shaking boy in his arms, all the while
murmuring reassurances, and nodding to the boy’s family to also make him feel
less frightened. Le Beau quickly followed them down, and closed the entrance.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan’s eyes were drawn to the door to Barracks Two, where
Le Beau was standing, clasping his hands together as though trying to keep
warm. He was back; Voelker’s wife and family must be in the tunnel.

Hogan signaled to his men to disperse, and he headed back
to Le Beau. “All set?” he asked under his breath, his eyes still scouring the
camp.

“Oui, Colonel,” Le Beau replied. “They are all
downstairs.”

“How’s the boy?”

“He was scared but he is better now. He is curious.”

“He can be as curious as he likes as long as no one
satisfies that urge. Make sure he stays on that end of the tunnel.”

“Oui, Colonel.” Louis paused. “It was nice of you to get
the men to make toys for him, to help him be less afraid, Colonel.”

Hogan, strangely uncomfortable with the insight, merely
answered, “If he’s playing, he’s not wandering around finding things out he
doesn’t need to know.”

“Of course, Colonel,” Le Beau replied. But he could tell
by Hogan’s tone of voice that he had caught his commander out. He wouldn’t push
this private man any further.

“Has Kinch radioed the Underground?”

“He is doing it now.”

Hogan nodded. “Good. All on schedule. The truck will be
here at six o’clock. I’ll get Voelker when this little charade is finished.” He
paused. “I’d better go greet our guests. Let me know if Klink suddenly
appears.”

Hogan left Le Beau standing outside and made his way
deftly down the ladder to the tunnel below. All was oddly quiet at this time of
day, and Hogan felt a sudden desire to spend some time down here in solitude,
as he did occasionally when he needed to sort things out in his mind. There had
been so much activity lately that he had not had a chance to just sit and
reflect. It was simply plan and act: a soldier doing a soldier’s job. When he had stopped he was usually too exhausted
for contemplation. But he didn’t give it much thought; he would have many years
to reflect on this time. Years that he hoped would begin sooner rather than
later, if he and his men were successful in their missions for the Allies.

Hogan came across Kinch at the radio. Not ready for
conversation, Hogan and Kinch asked and answered Hogan’s question without an
exchange of looks: all was still going to plan. Hogan nodded and softly smiled
his thanks. As he moved further down the tunnel, an indistinct sound reached
his ears, growing clearer as he neared the holding area that had been fashioned
for the Voelkers. It was the sound of a boy playing trucks, that revving sound
that Hogan remembered from his own childhood, and from every child that he had
ever encountered holding any toy with wheels. Normalcy. Normalcy in this
insanity. Hogan stopped and listened for a moment, then moved into view.

A slight, weary-looking woman stood up from a chair as
soon as Hogan turned the corner. She looked frightened, Hogan realized. She doesn’t deserve this. “Mrs. Voelker,
I presume?” Hogan said gently. “I’m Colonel Hogan.”

The woman seemed to visibly relax at his name. She
released her grip on a lovely young lady standing next to her. A younger
picture of the woman, Hogan knew he would have been able to place them as
mother and daughter instantly, even without the advantage of knowing who they
had to be. “Katrina Voelker, Colonel,” the woman said, regaining her composure
and coming forward. “My daughter Anna,” she continued. Hogan nodded at the
girl, who seemed to look up at him from under her long locks. Shy, thought Hogan. “My son, Erich.” She
gestured toward the boy on the floor, who had only now stopped playing with the
wooden truck the prisoners had supplied.

Hogan looked compassionately at the boy. “Hello, Erich,”
he said, wanting to make the boy feel at ease. “How’s the truck?”

“Great,” he said simply. But he continued to stare at
Hogan, only occasionally stealing a look at his mother.

Clearing his throat, Hogan began, “I’m sorry the
accommodation isn’t quite five star. It was the best we could do under the
circumstances. Family packages aren’t our usual forte.”

Mrs. Voelker smiled, a gesture that Hogan thought took
years off her face. How worry and fear
age a person, he thought. “We are not displeased, Colonel Hogan. We are grateful
for your generous offer to help us.”

Offer? Hogan bit
his tongue. No matter what he thought of Voelker, he would not do anything to
change his wife’s understanding of the situation. “We do what we can,” Hogan
answered instead. “I hope you understand why bringing your son in blindfolded
was necessary.”

“It was difficult but we can appreciate the danger
involved,” Mrs. Voelker said. “Erich would have been beyond us if this had
happened in the darkness. I do not know how we can ever thank you and your men
for the risk you are taking.”

“As long as he’s not afraid of dogs,” Hogan said, knowing
the rest of their journey was not going to be much more pleasant.

“We have—we had a dog at home. Erich loves them,” she
said, glancing at her son, who had by now gone back to his play. Hogan felt a
pang as the woman spoke. So many things they will have to say they used to own, used to do, used to believe…

“Your husband is in the camp,” Hogan said. “We’ll get him
down here as soon as we can. You’ll be leaving in the dog truck in a few hours.
It will take you to our contacts who will get you out of Germany. You’ll be in
England in two days, and helped further when you get there.”

“Danke, Colonel.
Danke schoen.” The woman smiled
again. Hogan couldn’t help but get the impression she was trying to put him at
ease. He was grateful, and felt pity for her at the same time. To give up one’s
whole life, in order to save it…

“I’ll have to leave you now,” he said. “A few more
arrangements to make. Sergeant Kinchloe is nearby if you need anything, and
Corporal Le Beau will be back soon with something for you to eat.”

Hogan had to turn away. “That’s okay,” he said. And
shoving his hands in his pockets, he quickly walked away.

***** ***** *****
***** ***** ***** *****

Thirty minutes later Voelker was inside Barracks Two,
Hogan having pried him and Becker away from Klink, saying that he had not
gotten his apology, and that he wanted it in front of his men in his quarters.
When Becker agreed, Klink’s “Humph!” and shaking fist dissolved into a
simpering smile.

Voelker surrendered his German uniform and Newkirk got to
work on giving it to a private who would wear it out of the camp with Becker,
then come back in through the emergency tunnel, with no one the wiser that
“Strohm” had disappeared without a trace. Le Beau and Carter then outfitted
Voelker in civilian clothes—their own clothes had been abandoned for light
travel, the pack carried holding their most precious mementos—and sent him
further down the tunnel for a reunion with his family.

“So far, so good, Colonel,” said Kinch.

“That package ready to go?” Hogan asked, remembering the
bomb at the end of Tunnel Four.

“Yes, sir. Courier is picking it up tomorrow. It will be
delivered to Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg.”

“Addressed to Strohm?”

“Yes, sir. When they realize Strohm deserted they’ll be
looking for evidence of his whereabouts and either destroy it, or open it,
thinking it might give them a clue.”

“And if they do the latter... Well, it’d be their own
fault for tampering with the mail,” Hogan quipped. “That’s a federal offence!”
He clapped Kinch on the shoulder. “Good work,” he praised. “There’s been a lot
of work in this for you; you’ve done it well.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” Kinch said.

“Why don’t you go on upstairs and get some sun on your
face. You’re looking pale.”

Kinch grinned and swatted Hogan’s arm, then headed up the
ladder. Hogan smiled to himself, then sat down at the radio to collect himself.
What a day this has been, he thought.
And it isn’t over yet.

Lost in thought, Hogan hadn’t heard the footsteps
approaching from behind him. So he was startled when a soft voice said,
“Colonel Hogan, may I talk with you?”

Hogan turned and saw Anna Voelker standing there, looking
charming in her pale dress despite the dimness of her surroundings. Her shyness
was evident on her face, but she obviously was fighting it to come to him. Hogan
turned his body to her, and gave her his full attention. “Sure,” he said.

“I thought you would be upstairs,” she started quietly.

“I come down here sometimes when I need to think.”

“It would be frightening, sometimes,” she pondered.

“It’s easy to be scared here,” Hogan offered, unsure how
to answer.

“But
you are very brave, Colonel. And brave men fear nothing.”

“That’s
not true,” Hogan said, not unkindly. “They fear just as much as anyone else.
They’re just more afraid of what will happen if they don’t act, than they are of what will happen if they do.”

Anna’s
eyes softened. “Colonel Hogan, I have heard much about you. I overheard my
mother and father talking when they thought I was sleeping.” Hogan raised an
eyebrow. Anna lowered her eyes, embarrassed at her admission. “I know you have
every right to be angry at my father, Colonel Hogan. But he loves us very much
and does things that can only be justified by love.”

Hogan
listened to the wisdom of this girl without comment. Anna continued, “You were
very kind to my brother, Colonel. Papa says there was great risk in bringing us
here in the daylight.”

“We
do it when we have to,” Hogan said.

Anna
smiled softly. “You did not have to,” she said. “Colonel Hogan, I would go to
bed every night, frightened of every noise, every shadow. I would wonder when
the Nazis would come for me, for my father—even to take my brother, or my
mother, who are both so innocent. No matter what comes now, Colonel, I can
sleep in peace. We are together, and once we are out of here and in England, I
will never have to fear the night again.” She moved to stand beside Hogan and,
in a moment of boldness mixed with hesitancy, placed a gentle kiss on his
cheek. “Kann Engel Bewachung über Ihnen, Colonel
Hogan,” she whispered. May angels watch
over you. “I shall never forget your goodness.”

Hogan
watched thoughtfully as she disappeared back down the tunnel.

Chapter
Eighteen

Soldier and
Man

“Does
everyone understand what they’re doing?” Hogan asked. The Voelkers were waiting
in the “sitting room” that had been constructed for them under the barracks,
clutching all their worldly possessions, and each other. Hogan studied each of
them, trying to gauge their readiness for this move. God help me if I ever have to do what they are doing, he thought.
And he was filled with a new respect for them all, even Voelker. Frightened,
Voelker had bravely done what he thought was necessary. And seeing the family
huddled here together, even in their uncertainty, Hogan hoped he would have
been able to do the same if he had needed to.

“Yes,
Colonel.”

“Fine.
The truck will be arriving in about fifteen minutes. We’ll move down to the
exit soon.” He looked at Erich, who was sitting with his mother. “We’ll have
to… put the blindfold back on,” he said hesitantly, hating the necessity but
knowing it could mean the difference between life and death.

“We
understand, Colonel,” said Mrs. Voelker. “Erich knows we are playing a special
game. He has to guess what type of road we are on, whether we are in the city,
or in the countryside, what kind of cars we are passing….”

Hogan
admired the way she handled the situation. Mothers
know best, he thought, and his mind flashed to his own family home, then
just as quickly came back to the present. Some
day… “We’ll move you out when the truck gets to the main gates.” Hogan made
to move back down the tunnel, and found himself being followed yet again. He
turned on his heel quickly and found Voelker there. “What is it?” asked Hogan.

“You
have done as you said you would, Colonel Hogan, and I will do as I have
promised,” Voelker said, coming to him. “I will tell you about the bomb.”

“Don’t
bother,” Hogan said, bitingly. “We already found it.”

“What?”
Voelker replied, stunned.

“My
men found it on Sunday. We’re sending it to Gestapo Headquarters tomorrow. It
will give a convenient explanation for the disappearance of Captain Strohm.”

Voelker
was silent for a moment. “If you already had it…”

“Then
we didn’t have to do all of this; that’s right,” Hogan filled in for him.

“Then
why did you?” asked Voelker, dumbfounded.

“Because
we promised we would. Because I told you we would have helped you if you had
only asked. Because we’re the good guys,”
Hogan nearly shouted. He paused. Now that he had seen Voelker’s family he had a
different perspective. But he was still angry, so angry. More calmly, he continued, “You put my operation, and the
lives of my men—not to mention the lives of innumerable Underground agents—at
risk with your stupid plan. If we hadn’t found that bomb, it could have been
delivered at any time, to anyone. We
could have been shot as spies, our network could have completely crumbled, and
your fellow countrymen would have been struggling to merely survive while you
and yours were cozying up to some nice Yorkshire pudding by a fireplace across
the Channel.”

Hogan couldn’t hide the fury that was
creeping into his voice. His eyes were alight, darting back and forth while he
struggled to keep from screaming at the man. All the pressure he had been
feeling during this ordeal had come to a head, and the cause of it was standing
before him, even now doubting his men’s earnestness. “Your little fiasco was
selfish, Voelker. Selfish and badly thought-out. You didn’t consider for one
minute the consequences of your actions on countless others. You thought the
end justified the means. And it doesn’t.” Hogan drew in a breath. Calm, Robert. Calm down. “But we’re
better than that. You see deep down, I understand why you did what you did.
You’ve got a family, a great family,
and they mean the world to you, more than this crummy war, more than anyone in
it. You couldn’t see past them to the big picture. And I accept that; I might
have even done the same in your place. But someday you’ll have time to think
about all of this, when it’s not so close to home. And I was determined to make
sure you know you were fighting on the right side.”

Voelker
didn’t say anything. He merely stood, his face showing the impact of Hogan’s
words. The Colonel was right. In his anger the American could have rightly
brought a halt to this operation; he was not under pressure to help, now that
the bomb had been discovered. “Colonel Hogan,” Voelker nearly whispered,
humbled by his own self-interest. He tried to look Hogan in the eye, but found
he could not. “I was doing only what I thought I had to. I trusted no one.”
Hogan remained silent. “I will protect my family, Colonel Hogan,” Voelker
suddenly said proudly. Then, more quietly, “We owe you our lives, much more
than I could ever repay.”

“We’re
the guys in the white hats. The men of honor,” Hogan said, almost without
emotion. “You don’t owe us anything.” He thought about Voelker’s wife and
children waiting at the tunnel exit. “Make sure your family knows the truth
about us,” he said. “That they know we’ve been trying to help save lives.” He
straightened his jacket and, clearing his throat, added, “That’s all the thanks
we need.”

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

Hogan
continued to toss and turn that night, tired but troubled by this operation not
quite completed. He had had Kinch wait by the radio in the hopes of hearing
from the Underground, but that had not happened. Finally, feeling guilty about
having the radioman sit wearily near the equipment, he had sent Kinch off to
bed and took his place. But even he, after another hour of waiting for a call
that wasn’t coming, had abandoned the hope of contact and had headed to his
quarters.

Early
the next morning, having been unable to sleep, Hogan himself met the
Underground courier to hand over the parcel bomb. And later, still restless,
Hogan’s mind was on the final words he had exchanged with Voelker’s wife. She
had taken him aside, away from her family, gripping his forearms to look him in
the eye. “Thank you for your kindness, Colonel Hogan. We shall remember you
always.”

There
was a catch in her voice, and Hogan looked down at her, touched by her emotion.
Sincerely, he said, “I’m glad we could help.”

“You
do not show your true self often, do you Colonel Hogan?” she asked softly.

In
spite of himself Hogan noticed how soft her skin appeared. Though the war and
its worry had aged her, close up he could see that Mrs. Voelker was still a
woman in her prime, and beautiful when given the right circumstances. “I have
to stay detached in my position, or I can’t do my job.”

“But
you don’t,” she persisted. “You took such a risk getting us here during
daylight hours. You had every reason to refuse us after what Kurt did, both
last week in Hammelburg, and here. Yet you did not. You cannot say that is
detached, Colonel.” She looked earnestly at him. “You are a soldier. But you
are a man as well.”

Hogan
tried to avoid her searching eyes, but found that he could not. “Is it that
important to you?” he asked quietly, moved.

She
squeezed his arms gently, kindly. “Perhaps it is important to you.” Their eyes remained locked, Hogan
unable to respond.

At
that moment Voelker came into sight. “Katrina,” he called. “It is time.”

The
woman smiled gently at Hogan, released his arms, and went to meet her husband.

In
his mind, Hogan was still watching her walk away when Newkirk called from the
window. “Schultz is on the way, Colonel.” She was still looking at him.
“Colonel,” repeated Newkirk.

Hogan
was jolted back to the present, nearly spilling his coffee. “Right,” he said,
collecting himself. “Okay.”He stood
up, tucking his shirt into his trousers. A glance from Kinch told him there was
still no word from the London about the fate of the Voelkers. All they knew at
this stage was that they had safely gotten out of Stalag 13.

“Colonel
Hogan, the Kommandant wants to see you in his office,” said Schultz as he
entered the room.

Hogan
nodded. “What’s it all about, Schultz?”

“I
do not know, Colonel Hogan. And I prefer it that way.”

Hogan
shrugged his shoulders, grabbed his jacket and cap, and followed the guard to
Klink’s office.

“Colonel
Hogan, I thought you would like to hear about our friend Captain Strohm,” Klink
said, as the senior POW came into the room.

“He’s
not my friend,” Hogan retorted. “I
prefer to think of him as a casual enemy acquaintance.”

“You
may be interested to hear that the Captain did not return to Gestapo
Headquarters last night after he left here.” Klink sat down, opened his
humidor, and pulled out a cigar. Hogan reached out to take one for himself, and
promptly drew his hand back as Klink snapped the lid shut and locked it. Don’t you worry, Kommandant; there’s more
than one way to skin a humidor.

“Is that so? Maybe they didn’t get their map from the auto
club.”

“The
Gestapo is investigating; they think he may have been a spy,” Klink revealed, awed. “Imagine; a man like that,” he said,
shaking his head.

“Oh,
I don’t think he was a spy, sir,” Hogan said dismissively, innocently, eyeing
the humidor.

“No?
Why not, Hogan?” Klink asked with interest.

“Well
for one thing,” Hogan started, “a real spy wouldn’t draw so much attention to
himself the way Strohm did in Hammelburg.”

“I’m
not sure I see where you’re heading,” Klink said, getting up to pace. Hogan
reached over and took the lighter off Klink’s desk.

“You’d
have thought a real spy would have been more discreet than to pick up an Allied
POW in the middle of Hammelburg.”

“Mmm,”
considered Klink, as Hogan held up the lighter to Klink’s cigar with his right
hand, while working the humidor’s lock with his left.

“And
to make disparaging remarks about the Iron Eagle in public,” continued Hogan, successfully breaking through, as he
had done many times before. Never taking his eyes off Klink, he took a handful
of stogeys and shoved them into his jacket, and put one in his mouth. “Well
that was beyond a joke, sir, and bound to attract unwanted attention.” He
handed Klink the lighter as he closed the humidor again and held out his cigar
for Klink to help light up.

“And
to then be forced to come into a prison camp to apologise? No,” Hogan said,
inhaling contentedly and replacing the lighter, “a real spy would have had to
have been much more clever than that.” Hogan sat down, propping his feet up on
the desk.

Klink’s
face took on a familiar look of frustration when he realised the smoke
billowing towards him was coming from Hogan. He was about to reprimand his
senior prisoner when the telephone rang. “Colonel Klink speaking, Heil Hitler.”
Klink’s face changed to take on a look of amazement. “Really?” he said. Hogan
puffed on his cigar, listening carefully. “That is very interesting, Herr
Major. Thank you for letting me know…. What’s that?…. Oh yes. Heil, Hitler.”
Klink hung up the receiver and sat down. “Colonel Hogan, you will never believe
it.”

“What’s
that?” asked Hogan.

“That
was Gestapo Headquarters in Hammelburg. Apparently a package was delivered
there today addressed to Captain Strohm. His superiors decided to open it to
find out who might be trying to contact a suspected spy… and the package
exploded!”

“Hmm.
Much damage?” Hogan asked.

“Two
Gestapo officers killed, and one of the offices was destroyed. He must have had
his own enemies,” pondered Klink. “Either that or someone suspected him of
espionage and wanted to stop him.”

“Well,
we can’t all be perfect,” Hogan said. He stood up, saluted Klink and turned to
go, then seemed to think better of it and turned back. “Oh, sir—the men were
disappointed that you couldn’t meet with that fraulein. So they scrounged
together and managed to get you this.” He reached back into his pocket and
thrust the pilfered cigars at Klink.

“It
was nothing, sir. Just a token,” Hogan said, and slipped out. As the outer door
closed behind him he could hear Klink’s voice crying, “Hogannnn!”

Hogan
beat a path back to Barracks Two, and very briefly explained what had transpired.
“It all went fine,” Hogan said distractedly. He rubbed his face, trying to
fight the tiredness that had started to come over him on his walk back.

“News
from London, Colonel,” Kinch said, appearing from below.

Hogan
sat down at the table and looked at him. “What is it?”

“Voelker
and his family are in London; they’ve been picked up and are being debriefed
now.” Hogan shot a look at Kinch, asking more. “They’re all okay. And the kids
are fine.”

Hogan
nodded. He rested his chin in his hand, leaning on the table. His exhaustion
was becoming more overpowering. “Good.” He closed his eyes.

“Go
to bed, Colonel,” suggested Le Beau.

“Yeah,
London says they’re giving us a few days’ reprieve for this one, Colonel,”
Kinch added. He motioned to Newkirk to move in, and the two of them pulled
Hogan up from the table by the arms.

“Hey,
what’s the beef?” Hogan protested.

“It’s
beddie-bye time for all good little Colonels,” Newkirk said, as he and Kinch
led Hogan to his room.

Hogan
resisted only mildly. Carter plucked the crush cap from his head, and as they
deposited him on his bunk, Newkirk and Kinch pulled the bomber jacket from
Hogan’s back. Hogan automatically turned toward the wall and curled up. By the
time Le Beau had grabbed a blanket from the upper bunk to lay over their
commanding officer, Hogan was completely asleep. The Frenchman looked at the
others questioningly.

“This
one’s finished now; he’ll let himself rest,” Kinch concluded.

***** ***** ***** *****
***** ***** *****

The
white light was again flashing in Hogan’s face as he sat strapped in the chair.
He could not see, but he did not need to. He knew what was coming.

“How
do you defend yourself?” asked the voice.

Despite
the underlying menace, Hogan was bold now, and had a ready answer. “Yes, people
die. Yes, I am responsible for it. I’m a soldier and I follow orders. But I
save lives, too. I am still a man as well.”

The
bright, probing light disappeared. And Hogan slept on in peace as he found
himself suddenly surrounded by soft, comforting warmth, with no dreams at all.

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